Shambles Of A Dying World
by ThatScreamingBread
Summary: 18 years after the events of 'Where The Cold Awaits', the remaining members of the Home struggle more and more each day to survive with the rest of the dying world. The Dragon Crisis has lasted 18 years thanks to a missing-in-action Dragonborn. Disorder plagues the land as bandits run wild. Will the survivors come out unscathed, or will they crumble with the rest of Nirn?
1. Into The Forest

**A/N: Okay guys! I wrote the entire plot out for the sequel, and I'm finally ready to put that plot skeleton into words!**

 _ **Side note: If you have not read my other fanfic, "Where The Cold Awaits", I STRONGLY suggest you read that before reading this, otherwise you're going to have no idea what in Sam hill's name is going on, as this is the sequel to that story.**_

 **As always, enjoy the story! I hope this story is as liked as its predecessor!**

The bright orange sun slowly dipped beneath the horizon as the smoky-gray clouds tucked it away. The moon slightly peeked over on the other side of the horizon as if it were playing a game of peek-a-boo with the setting sun.

A small swallow flitted her feathery wings as she landed on a half-attached tree branch. She squawked in surprise when the tree branch snapped, and she flew to a sturdier branch. She perched herself up on the branch and ruffled her feathers, expelling all the dirt and feather dust she had accumulated. She clicked her beak and looked around the tree. Its wood was decaying near the roots, but the higher areas of the tree looked relatively healthy. The swallow relaxed her wings, pleased with her choice in a new home.

She quickly crouched, lowering her tiny head as her brownish-beige tail feathers flared. She gave a few warning clicks of her beak to the unseen intruder she had sensed.

Out of the nearby brush, an arrow embedded itself in the decaying tree, startling the swallow. She gave a squawk of fright, and quickly retreated into the hollow part of the tree.

"Get back here, cowards!" An enraged male voice exclaimed.

A red-haired man ran from the brush, swiftly dodging the decaying tree he had nearly collided with. "Come on, Caehir!" He yelled back to his Bosmer companion, who followed close behind. "How much further do we have to go?" Caehir asked, ducking his head to avoid an arrow that whizzed by. "We can't lead them back to the Home, they'll cause all sorts of trouble!" The auburn replied, glancing over his shoulder.

The three bandits that had been chasing the pair were still in hot pursuit, their weapons at the ready. "You'll be so much easier to rob when you're DEAD!" One of them shouted as the auburn fellow turned back around. "Ysgrig, we need to stand our ground and fight!" Caehir told his friend, stopping in his tracks.

Ysgrig nodded, brushing a stray tuft of his red hair from his face as he turned around with his glass mace in his hand. Caehir unsheathed his rusty dwarven sword, readying himself for the inevitable fight. "You have one final chance; leave us alone, or we'll have no choice but to kill you." Caehir warned, flames of fury in his eyes. "We don't have to take that from you! Why don't you both just kill yourselves and spare us the trouble?" The bandit with the brown, scraggly beard shot back, a malicious grin slowly etching itself upon his blood-speckled face as he nocked an arrow into his bow.

Caehir and Ysgrig briefly exchanged a glance of acknowledgement, and the two ran off in different directions, quickly dashing over to the bandit trio, who stood there confused. "After them!" The youngest of the bandits cried, wielding his iron dagger as if it were an ancient sword carried by a God.

Ysgrig took one look at their faces, covered with dried blood and faded war paint, and knew that they weren't taking any prisoners. He gave a fierce cry and leapt forward, slamming his mace into the younger bandit's skull. His eye popped out, and he gurgled his own blood as he slowly bled to death, shattered fragments of his skull flying everywhere. The biggest of the bandits lunged for Ysgrig, but quickly froze in place as Caehir's sword pierced his heart. Caehir pulled his sword out of the bandit just in time to block the bearded bandit's attempt at decapitating him.

Ysgrig ran forward, but quickly stopped when he saw a bear lumbering towards them from the thicker area of the woodlands. "Caehir, get back!" Ysgrig shouted. Caehir stole a glance at the cave bear and retreated to Ysgrig's side as he backed away. The bandit growled and gave chase, but quickly tripped and fell when the bear had grabbed his right leg. The bandit's sword fell several feet away, embedding itself in a nearby mud puddle.

The bandit snarled, pushing the bear off him. He got back up, but the bear quickly struck back by tackling him to the ground. The bear let out an earth-shaking roar as he clawed the bandit's throat out. The bear quickly leapt off the dead bandit and charged towards Caehir and Ysgrig. The bear immediately focused on Caehir, who was closer. Caehir was almost paralyzed with fear when the bear came dashing towards him, the fiend's sharp claws leaving evident marks in the ground as it approached.

"Ysgrig, help!" Caehir cried as the bear sunk its teeth into his leg. "GAH! YSGRIG!" Ysgrig dashed over to the Bosmer and stabbed the bear through the eye with his sword. It gave an anguished roar, releasing Caehir from his teeth. Caehir grasped his leg before hurriedly limping back into the Home. The enraged bear growled fiercely, scaring the nearby birds from the trees. The furry beast lunged for Ysgrig, who fell over on his back. The bear bounded towards him, but stopped in its tracks when a katana shot through its head. It fell to the ground, blood pouring from its body. Ysgrig's eyes trailed up the katana and the katana's hilt until he got an eyeful of the beholder. "Thank the Gods. It's you."

Ysgrig's eyes met another pair of emerald eyes that matched his own. His savior's red hair was in slightly longer tufts than his own, and his skin was relatively unscathed. Ysgrig pushed himself off the ground as his rescuer sheathed his katana. The two stood in silence for awhile before the fellow spoke. "Dad…I thought I lost you."

"It's alright, Kyrike. Your dad's a strong man. You're a chip off the old block, son." Ysgrig replied, giving Kyrike a fatherly pat on the back. Kyrike's face remained the same, not smiling or frowning. He just stared ahead, a blank expression on his face as usual. "Another run in with bandits?" Kyrike asked, looking over at the three bandits who lay sprawled on the ground. Ysgrig nodded. "You know, son…bandits didn't used to be this much trouble. Skyrim is falling apart." Ysgrig explained, walking back to the Home alongside his son.

"Why do you think all this is happening now?" Kyrike queried, brushing one of the longer tufts of his hair from his face. "It must be because of the dragons. They came back about eighteen years ago, several months before your mom gave birth to you." Ysgrig smiled, fondly remembering Chalvia. "Why isn't that Dragonborn friend of yours doing anything?" Kyrike asked, a hint of annoyance and doubt lingering in his deep voice. "Kyrike, Valelia has been missing for years now. If she's still alive, she'll do something about it." "And if not?" Ysgrig fell silent at his son's retort. "I swear, Kyr. You're the exact opposite of your aunt. At least _she_ had a little bit of hope." Ysgrig scoffed, shaking his head as the two trekked back to the Home.


	2. Hopes

**A/N: There are some things I'd like to clear up for the story's sake.**

 **Since this story takes place 18 years after 'Where The Cold Awaits', Ysgrig is about 36 years old, and Kyrike has just turned 18. Kyrike is pronounced KAI-rike. And yes, Valelia Sharp-Sun has been missing for about 10+ years. She's about 37 in this story. The Dragon Crisis, as stated in the summary, is still going on, and the Civil War is still going on, and the Stormcloak Rebellion is close to losing the war.**

 **I'm sorry if it takes longer to update, school's starting again.**

 **As always, reviews are appreciated, thank you all so much for taking the time to read.**

"It's a good thing Kyrike was there. Maybe it's alright for him to venture out unattended on the occasion." "Well, I can't argue with you there, Evada. If Kyr hadn't swooped in when he did, I'd have been that bear's evening meal." Ysgrig replied, whittling away at a chunk of wood with a small knife. Evada casually twirled a stray lock of her dirty blonde hair around her finger.

"Where do you think Valie is?" She asked, looking back at Ysgrig. Ysgrig stroked his beard for a moment before returning to whittle the chunk of wood. "I've got no clue. Wherever she is, though, I'm sure she'll come through for us. The rest of Skyrim might not feel the same, though." Ysgrig grimaced, thinking of the hatred Valie would face if she returned. "Well, you and Reea'th found me about to jump to my death off a waterfall. I guess Valie could be just about anywhere in Skyrim when you think about it."

The two went silent for awhile, Ysgrig's scraping at the wood block catching her attention. "What're you making?" Evada curiously inquired, nodding at the large chunk of wood he was whittling. "A horse. At least, what I hope turns out to be a horse." Ysgrig cringed, looking at the abnormal zigzags in the wood.

Kyrike sat upon his horse, looking over the horizon for any potential threats. The black and brown horse gave a reassuring whinny, and Kyrike relaxed a bit. He gently stroked the creature's beautiful mane, occasionally stealing a glance at the unusually calm skyline. It was a light orange, while normally the sky was a deep crimson with several dark gray clouds floating overhead. "Sky's beautiful tonight, isn't it, Varos?" Kyrike soothingly asked, running his hands through the soft, fluffy mane of his horse.

Varos gave a whinny of understanding, arching his neck to nuzzle Kyrike's hand. "Yeah, you're a good horse, aren't you?" Kyrike reached into his satchel, pulling out a carrot. He dismounted Varos, holding the bright orange carrot flat in his palm. Varos slowly approached, giving Kyrike a look that asked for permission to eat the carrot. Kyrike nodded, and Varos leaned over Kyrike's hand, munching on the crunchy carrot. He looked up at Kyrike, giving a quiet snort. Kyrike lightly chuckled. "You're a good horse, Varos. You sure are." He stroked Varos's neck.

Varos looked up for a brief moment, spotting a wolf prowling towards them off in the distance. Varos gobbled up the rest of the carrot, seemingly unfazed by the wolf, and gave a slight nod in the wolf's direction. Kyrike looked over and saw what Varos had detected. He unsheathed his katana, grasping it firmly in his hands. The wolf gave a growl before howling up at Kyrike, who approached him. Kyrike looked down at the wolf, almost mocking the creature. _Seems harmless enough, but I don't feel like contracting Rockjoint...not again, anyway._

Before the wolf could complete its attack by jumping up and biting Kyrike on the arm, the red-haired man nonchalantly plunged his katana through the wolf's mouth, ripping it apart from the inside. He pulled the blade out of the wolf, slicing into it to reap its pelt.

Kyrike had lead Varos back into his makeshift stables and headed back inside. He placed the wolf pelt by the other pelts in the main hall. It would be a harsh winter, and they would need extra blankets.

"Varos saw another wolf outside." Kyrike announced as he strode into the dining hall where Ysgrig and Evada sat. "It was a good deal, finding that horse out in the wilds. He's proven himself to be quite the guard." Ysgrig chuckled, briefly looking up from his whittling. Evada nodded. "Didn't he save your life once?" She asked, turning to Kyrike. Kyrike casually shrugged. "He's saved my skin tons of times. Faster than any other horse I've ever seen." He coolly replied, crossing his arms. "When are we going to look for Valie?" Kyrike suddenly asked, a small bit of eagerness lacing his voice. "Whenever the time is right, son." Ysgrig replied, still unsure if Valelia was still alive or not.

Kyrike became indignant. "But the time _is_ right. People are dying every day because of the dragons, and Valelia's been gone for…for…" Kyrike sighed, running a hand through his tufts of hair. "I'm sorry, pa. I spoke out of line." Kyrike apologized, lowering his head in shame. Ysgrig frowned, nodding in understanding. "I know you're frustrated son. We're all waiting, and it's been so long, but Valie will come back to us, and she'll return things to the way they were before." He replied.

Kyrike suddenly looked down at Ysgrig's right hand. "You're wearing it." Ysgrig looked down at his hand. Sarila's silver ring was snug on his ring finger, and the luna moth engraving was still as lovely as ever. Ysgrig smiled, sighing wistfully as memories with his sister made their way into his mind. "I miss you, Sarila." He whispered, Evada and Kyrike exchanging solemn glances. "Tell me the story about you and aunt Sarila again, dad." Kyrike requested, sitting in the chair across from his father. Ysgrig chuckled heartily. "Come now, Kyr! I've told you that story so many times." "Tell it again. Please?" Ysgrig gave in.

 _Sarila and Ysgrig ducked behind a bush, carefully watching the Imperial camp ahead of them. A quartermaster was seen tempering a steel blade, and several Imperial soldiers were huddled around the fire. Ysgrig scoffed at the sight. "Damn Imperials. They can't seem to stand the cold like the Nords." Sarila nodded. Ysgrig turned to her. "Now, we can either sneak up and take them out one by one, or charge in and slaughter them all at once. It's your choice, sis."_

 _Sarila pulled her daggers from their sheathes. "It's wiser to do it the sneaky way than to do it the cheeky way." She grinned evilly, glancing at three Imperial soldiers off in the distance. "And I know exactly how we can do it."_

 _She snuck over to the three Imperials, who seemed to be chatting with each other as they guarded the perimeter, Ysgrig following closely behind. She arose from her sneaking position and approached the Imperial soldiers casually, Ysgrig mirroring her movements. One soldier turned to the twins curiously, the others soon noticing. "Staying out of trouble, citizens?" One asked kindly. Sarila gave a sweet smile. "Hello." She began. The soldiers gave her a curt nod, resuming to their chatter._

 _"And goodbye." She added a moment later, running towards the closest soldier. After she had pierced his heart with her dagger, she used her other dagger to slit another's neck. Ysgrig took the third soldier down in a shower of blood with his greatsword._

 _The two had stripped two of the corpses of their clothes, wiping off what they could of the bloodstains. They strode into the camp. Sarila winked at Ysgrig and approached the quartermaster. The fellow looked up, beaming. "Afternoon, miss. Care for a shiny new blade to bloody your foes with?" He smiled, offering her the sword he'd finished tempering. Sarila nodded, and once the blade was in her hands, she turned back to face him. "Thank you kindly, sir."_

 _She lopped the man's head off a split second later with his own sword._

 _The twins then branched out, stabbing and slicing every Imperial soldier they could find. Blood, limbs, and internal organs were strewn about the camp, and the Imperial legate emerged from his tent a moment later. "What in Oblivion do you two think you're doing?! Front and center, soldiers!" He commanded, but Ysgrig instead rolled his eyes, tossing an iron dagger directly into the man's forehead. He collapsed, slowly dying of blood loss before his breathing stopped entirely._

"Dad, I want to join the Stormcloaks just like you and aunt Sarila. I know they're not doing great in the war, but they have dedication." Kyrike paused. "And I want to finish what granddad started." He added. "It's your choice, Kyrike. If you join the Stormcloaks, Reea'th, Caehir, and I will gladly accompany you." Ysgrig smiled. "Thanks, dad." Kyrike gave a small smile before his face returned to normal. He got up from his chair and walked back to his room, gently shutting the door behind him.


	3. Dragons

Kyrike gently stroked Varos' mane the next morning. It was his turn for lookout, as it grew more and more risky to live outside of city walls, though not even the city walls were entirely safe. "What do you say, pal? See anything last night?" Kyrike questioned, brushing the tangles from his horse's fur. Varos gave a whinny of reassurance. "Yeah, good job, Varos. You know what to do if there was something, right?" Kyrike asked, giving Varos a hopeful look. Varos lowered his head and picked up an elven dagger with his teeth. He gave a snort, pawing at the ground as he looked up at Kyrike with the dagger in his teeth. Kyrike gave almost a hint of a chuckle, stroking his steed's neck lovingly as Varos placed the dagger back on the ground.

A symphony of roars ripped through the atmosphere, the world seemingly shaking when the sound of temporary peace was disturbed. Kyrike unsheathed his katana, crouching. Varos nickered, alerting his friend of danger, and lay down on his belly in his stable.

A moment later, Kyrike's suspicions had come true.

"Dragons! Everyone, stay inside!" Kyrike called out. The auburn looked back at Varos, who gave him a slight nod of approval, and he rushed into the Home.

The Home rattled and shook as several more loud roars rang out overhead, tiny bits of the stone masonry from the ceiling falling to the ground. Evada, Ysgrig, Sa'etha, Caehir, Reea'th, and Omir had all gathered in the main hall with Kyrike. "How many this time?" Sa'etha asked, looking at the ceiling, unsure it would hold. "If you're asking for a certain number, I've got no idea. It was three at the very least." Kyrike answered, his hands tensing as he gripped his katana.

The Home rumbled more fiercely than before, a larger chunk of stone falling from the ceiling. "Oh, dear." Evada mumbled, her eyes narrowing at the unsturdy ceiling. The roars grew louder, and suddenly, a large thud shook the home.

Heavy, reptilian breathing sounded, echoing through the halls. "Don't make a sound. One of them is atop the Home." Omir quietly hissed, his whiskers twitching wildly. Everyone ducked for cover, hiding under tables and benches. For a few moments, all anyone could hear was tense, terrified breathing, and low growls of the monstrosity above them. The Home shook once more, and the sound of wind hitting large, scaly wings was soon heard as the dragon flew off to rejoin the others.

"Is it safe to come out now?" Reea'th asked, looking over at his sister beneath the table ten feet away from him. Sa'etha gave him a nod of reassurance, and the Argonian siblings emerged from their hiding spots. One by one, everyone began to come out of hiding, looking up at the ceiling. "Damn it all!" Ysgrig swore, slamming his fist on a table.

Everyone's eyes scanned over the ceiling until they had seen Ysgrig's source of anger. A large, jagged crack ran through the masonry, several small chunks of stone falling from the ceiling. "Wonderful. Now we've got _this_ to deal with." Caehir groaned, putting a hand to his head. Everyone looked to Omir, who sighed. "I will gather some stone to smelt and fix the ceiling. Do not worry." Omir replied, looking at his missing pinky finger out of habit.

Several weeks earlier, a particularly vicious wolf pack had approached the Home. Varos had given several loud whinnies to alert the residents, and he stamped at the wolves, all the while trying to stab them with his dagger. Evada was the first to come out, and she had rushed to the horse's aid. A wolf had clawed her right leg. She screamed, the residents of the Home quickly emerging to help Evada and Varos. In the midst of the chaos, a larger wolf had charged towards Omir, who stood ready to fight with his ebony war axe. He took a swing at the wolf, who had dodged the blow at the last second, and he quickly bit into Omir's wrist. Omir yowled in pain, dropping his war axe. He clawed at the wolf with his free hand, but the fretting Khajiit's claws were no match for the wolf's razor sharp teeth.

Kyrike had seen Omir's wrist in the wolf's mouth, blood spurting everywhere as the Khajiit blacksmith tried to pry the wolf off, and he stuck his katana through the wolf's heart. Omir managed to get his hand out, but felt as though something weren't right. He looked down to see his pinky finger missing, and he called out to Sa'etha to assist him.

Omir was fine, much to everyone's relief, though it served as a wake-up call that the world was even more dangerous than it had been years before.

The dragon's sudden landing on top of the Home was no different, and all they could do was find a way to deal with their troubles, starting with getting their unstable ceiling fixed before it caved in on top of everyone. Time was running out, but the members of the Home knew they would be able to make the best of things just as they had always done before.


	4. Broken Hearts

"Damn, where are the authorities and patrols in all this?" Caehir irately grumbled, pulling his sword out of the dead bandit's chest. "They're where they always are; in the cities." Sa'etha mumbled, looking down at the corpses of the bandits that were strewn about. "I'm starting to wonder how long it'll be before we have to move out of the Home for good."

Caehir keeled over, panting as he caught his breath from the battle that had ensued between him, Sa'etha, Varos, and a group of bandits that had come too close to the Home. Sa'etha eyed Caehir's bandaged leg. "Don't put too much pressure on that." She gestured to the Bosmer's injury. "The stitching will come undone, then we'll have to do it over." She continued. Caehir shuddered at the thought of having to go through the process of having his leg stitched and cleaned all over.

One of the bandits was still moving on the ground, blood spilling from his chest. Sa'etha turned to look at the dying man who weakly reached up towards her. She raised her iron dagger and stuck it through his skull, quickly pulling her dagger free. The Argonian doctor wiped her weapon with a cloth out of natural instinct and walked over to check on Varos.

Varos had made his way back to his stable, munching on a bale of hay. Sa'etha closed the gate behind the horse and left the loyal horse to enjoy his meal.

"How's the new stonework coming, Omir?" Reea'th asked, walking into Omir's forgery. Omir took a moment to examine the stone he'd smelted. "It…appears to be able to serve a purpose." He replied, not taking his eyes off his work. Reea'th nodded, looking up at the ceiling. "Let's just hope this place lasts at least a bit longer. We've got no other place to go once the Home has run its course." Reea'th mumbled, gently closing the door to Omir's forge.

Evada lay on the small couch in the main hall, gazing wistfully at her rusted hunting dagger. Reea'th stopped in his tracks, giving a look of sympathy to the Imperial, who was still absorbed in whatever memory she was reliving. "Thinking about her?" Reea'th gently inquired, sitting in the spot next to Evada. Evada numbly nodded, tucking the dagger in its sheath with great care. "I'm sorry." "Don't be." Evada quietly murmured. Reea'th opened his mouth to speak once more, but instead nodded. He got up from the couch and wandered into the dining hall to find Ysgrig or Kyrike. Evada took her dagger out once more, caressing its hilt. "Oh, Vi..." She sighed, closing her eyes.

 _The leaves of autumn flew from the trees as Evada and Vitetira rode their horse along the path to Riften. Evada gently tugged left on the reins of the horse, brushing a few strands of her dirty blonde hair from her eyes._

 _"Green." Vitetira suddenly declared from behind Evada._ _"No, red." Evada smirked. "Green."_ _"Red." "Definitely green." "Oh, give it a rest, Vi! Red apples are the best." Evada laughed, Vitetira tightening her grasp on Evada's hips as the horse took them through the forest. "Green is the color of life. Wouldn't you prefer a lively apple?" Vitetira giggled, playing with Evada's hair. "Nonsense, dear. Red is the color of love and passion. I'd prefer something that would make me think of you." Evada smiled, looking back at Vitetira. Vitetira giggled once more and briefly pressed her lips to Evada's._

 _The horse suddenly reared, the two women crying out as they were nearly thrown from the horse. Evada grasped the reins, Vitetira's arms firmly wrapped around her waist. The horse suddenly gave a frightened whinny, galloping in the opposite direction. "What's going on? Why are we going this way now?" Vitetira asked, startled. Evada pulled at the reins to stop the horse, only to receive no obedience. An arrow sank into the trunk of a nearby tree, prompting the two Imperials to turn their heads towards it. "Bandits. We need to find another path to the city." Evada mumbled under her breath. "Don't worry, love. We'll get to Riften safely." She reassured, looking back into Vitetira's gentle, grey eyes. The woman in question nodded, removing the bow that was strapped to her back. She reached into her leather quiver, pulling out a particularly sharp arrow._

 _Vitetira nocked the arrow in the drawstring, looping the thick string in the curves of her middle and index fingers. "Steady…" Vitetira whispered to herself, closing her non-dominant eye. An Orcish bandit came into view, charging at them with a dwarven mace. She aimed the point of the arrow directly for his heart, releasing the drawstring. The drawstring wobbled back and forth after the arrow had been sent into the air, quickly homing in on the bandit. He collapsed face-first not even a second later, a large puddle of blood forming on the freezing dirt._

 _Several more bandits appeared in the distance, gaining on Evada and Vitetira. "Vi, there's too many of them! We have to let the horse carry us away!" Evada exclaimed, giving the horse an encouraging nudge with her leg._

 _No sooner had the words left her mouth, a bandit had released an arrow into the horse's right hind leg. The horse reared upwards, throwing the two surprised women off his back. The horse quickly collapsed from the pressure he'd put on his injured leg, slowly bleeding to death._

 _Evada groaned, grasping her arm. "Vitetira, I think I've landed improperly on my arm!" She cried, holding her right arm close. The only response she got was a pained mumble. Beneath the horse's body was Vitetira, blood staining her tunic. "Oh, Gods! Vi!" Evada forgot about the pain in her arm and pushed the horse off her, grunting when she'd strained her injured arm._

" _Evada, my back…" Vitetira breathlessly murmured. "What?! What about your back?!" Evada demanded, terrified. "I…my back is broken, Evada. You need to leave me." She whispered, gritting her teeth as she rolled over to pull her favorite hunting dagger from its sheath. "Kill anything you need to. This dagger has served me well on all our hunting trips, I know it will do the same for you." Tears fell from Evada's eyes onto Vitetira's face. "Vi, I can't go on without you! I need you to stay with me, please!" Evada begged, trying to help Vitetira up. "AAAARRRRGGH, STOP!" Vitetira yelled, several sickening snaps sounding in her back as Evada propped her up. Vitetira bonelessly flopped back down onto the ground. "Go, Evada. I love you." She whispered, looking over at the approaching bandits before looking back up at her lover._

 _An arrow embedding itself in the dirt near the two broke Evada out of her dazed state, salty tears stinging her eyes. "I'm sorry, Vi. I love you!" She told her, crying as she ran away. The bandits made their way over to Vitetira, and Evada turned around just in time to watch the leader's sword bite deep into her love's neck. The brokenhearted Imperial turned back around and resumed running, having nothing left to return to._

 _She ran for a good hour or so before she keeled over, gasping for breath. Her eyes rapidly darted around, and her pounding heart was all she could hear. Her heartbeat slowly returned to normal, and she could soon hear the rampant running of a nearby waterfall._

 _Evada climbed up the waterfall, looking at the water that flowed off the steep ledge onto the jagged rocks below, creating an endlessly flowing river. Evada exhaled, exasperated. She tucked the dagger back into its sheath and stepped up to the edge of the waterfall. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. "Goodbye." She thoughtlessly whispered, falling backwards off the ledge._

" _NO!" Someone shouted, and she felt two pairs of hands pulling her back. Evada screamed, tears refilling her eyes. She swung her arms around wildly, hitting her captors. "Hey! HEY! STOP! We're not the bad guys here!" A Nordic voice yelled. Evada briefly stopped, breathing heavily. Her eyes were red and puffy, snot dribbling from her nose._

" _What do you people WANT? Can't you see I'm busy here?!" She snapped before crying again. The Argonian and Nord who had caught her exchanged worried glances. "Well, we saw you about to jump from the waterfall, so—" "Maybe I WANTED to fall. Have you ever even considered that possibility?!" She snarled, biting her lip as the tears resumed. The Nord sighed. "Look. Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Ysgrig." He gently introduced. "And I'm Reea'th." The Argonian added with a curt nod. "Who might you be?" He asked._

" _Me?" Evada sniffled, surprised that these two fellows would even care who she was. "I'm…I'm nobody. No one to anyone anymore." She sourly whispered, wiping her eyes. "But if you were asking for my name…it's Evada."_

 _A roar ripped through the sky, and the trio looked over at the Throat of the World. A dragon had perched up on one of the protruding rocks, looking over the land as if he were its ruler. "Come back with us. We've got a place for you." Ysgrig motioned for Evada to follow him. Evada remained silent for a moment, and Ysgrig and Reea'th were beginning to doubt that she would agree. "Okay." She replied, looking down at her feet._


	5. A Doomed People

The stars were shrouded in the smoky-gray clouds that plagued the land. The dragons had certainly set about throwing their weight around, showing Nirn that they had returned to rule over their once-owned land. Though the halls of the Home were quiet that night, there was a scheme formulating in the mind of a certain katana-wielding, red-haired boy.

Kyrike slipped his katana back into its sheath. He removed his light-red tunic, plucking the strings one by one until he could slip it off. He rustled through the wooden chest at the foot of his bed, pulling out his scaled cloak with protective horker bone shoulder guards and a long dark red cape.

In almost no time at all, Kyrike was fully armored, fastening the sheath containing his beloved katana to his armor. He snuck out of his room and gently closed the door behind him. He crept past Ysgrig's room in the hallway, briefly pressing his ear up against the wood of the door. The sound of light, relaxed breathing was the only sound heard in the otherwise silent room, and Kyrike eventually continued walking through the hall.

Kyrike entered the main hall, careful not to trip over the rubble of the broken ceiling. He suddenly collided with someone in the darkness. "Woah!" Caehir shouted, stumbling back from the unexpected impact. Kyrike blinked, for he knew he'd been caught. Caehir lit a nearby candle on a candelabrum. "Kyrike, what are you doing up? It's awfully late, and we've got quite a few chores to do tomorrow."

Kyrike sighed. Now that Caehir had caught him trying to sneak out at night, he would never relent until Kyrike told him what he was doing. "I'm going to find Valie. The dragon situation is getting out of hand, and if we have even one more incident, it could mean the death of any one of us." Kyrike explained, looking away from Caehir's eyes to lessen his guilt.

"I…Kyrike, I know things have gotten bad, but your father would be devastated if you left and…Gods forbid, never came back." Caehir frowned, a look of pleading in his dark brown eyes. "Caehir, look at this." Kyrike gently tugged at the neckline of his cloak, revealing three scars, each one jagged and ugly. "Do you remember that day when that sabre cat got me when I was hunting with dad as a kid? I was only seven years old, and I didn't shed a tear. I'm stronger than you might know, Caehir. Remember that." Kyrike told him. Footsteps filled the hallway, the other members of the Home making their way towards Caehir and Kyrike. _We've woken them all up. Now I'll never be able to find Valelia._

"Kyrike, you're not trying to sneak out _again_ , are you?" Ysgrig asked, crossing his arms as he waited for an explanation. "We can't keep living like this, not without Valie here to kill at least a few of the dragons. Skyrim is in ruins, as is Tamriel, and the rest of Nirn, too. We're a doomed people, and we _need_ her, pa. And if none of you are willing to go out and find her, then _I_ will." Kyrike retorted, turning his back on the people he'd come to know as family. "Kyrike, you can't go out there. Do you have any idea what would happen if you went out to find Valie by yourself?" Ysgrig rhetorically inquired, not uncrossing his arms.

The Home suddenly shook with an intensity it hadn't previously. The all-too-familiar roar of a dragon flying overhead rang in everyone's ears, and the ceiling began to crumble. Everyone prepared to duck for cover, but the pieces of the ceiling's stonework fell in miniscule portions. Slowly, their nerves returned to normal.

The ceiling gave way, large bricks and chunks of the ceiling plummeting to the ground. Several screams were heard, but Kyrike couldn't identify from whom they came. The auburn ducked beneath the sturdiest table he could find, closing his eyes to protect them from dust and falling bits of the Home's ceiling. He silently hoped his father was alright.

The members of the Home waited for the dust to clear before emerging from their hiding spots. Omir's tail had been caught underneath a large brick. "Omir!" Evada screeched, running to his aid. "I'm alright, I'm alright. But…" Omir closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. "Others were not so lucky." He cast a gaze over to his left.

Caehir lay crushed beneath a hunk of rubble, a pool of blood oozing out from beneath the remains of the ceiling.

One by one, everyone gathered around the wood elf's body. Ysgrig stood there for a moment, not believing what he was looking at. He soon fell to his knees, Evada rushing to his side. Ysgrig stared blankly at the heap of stone that covered his brave, true-blue friend, Caehir. "Not like this, Caehir. Why?" Ysgrig buried his face in his hands, mourning his childhood friend. Reea'th and Sa'etha got on either side of the rubble, digging through it to uncover Caehir's body.

At least, what remained of it.

"He's…there's barely enough left to bury." Evada exasperatedly whispered.

Kyrike closed his eyes, clenching his shaking fists. "You ask me, pa, what would happen if I went to look for Valie," He began, and everyone looked up at the young warrior. "Well, I'll ask you what would happen if I _didn't_ look for her." He bitterly added before looking at Caehir's crushed corpse. "But I don't need to ask, for I have found the answer."


	6. What Lies Ahead

Ysgrig and Reea'th buried Caehir on the hill they had buried Mattha's parents. The members of the Home had given Caehir a small but thoughtful funeral, each of them placing a mountain flower before his makeshift gravestone. As soon as their gathering had ended, Kyrike stormed back into the Home to retrieve his supplies. He exited the broken building and hopped on Varos's back. Varos was wide awake, having heard the dragon flying overhead, the ceiling's collapse, and the screams of the terrified members of the Home.

Kyrike gave a gentle tug on the reins to let Varos know he was ready to set out, and the horse began to trot forward. "Varos, stop!" Ysgrig called in the distance. The horse obeyed, whinnying as he slowed to a stop. "Dad, what now?" Kyrike asked, annoyed with his father. "Where do you think you're going?" Ysgrig queried. Kyrike huffed in irritation. "To find Valie! We've been through this, dad! I'm just going to go—" "No, I mean _where_ are you going?" Kyrike went silent, for he hadn't thought of any places Valelia could be.

Seeing Kyrike cool down and realize his meaning, Ysgrig opened his mouth to speak again. "If you want to make any progress in finding Valelia, you should check with Brynjolf in the Ragged Flagon of Riften. Go through the Ratway, and when you enter the Ragged Flagon, be sure to tell them exactly who you are. They'll know." Ysgrig instructed. Kyrike nodded, mentally jotting down his father's orders. "Any other words of wisdom before I head out, pa?" Kyrike asked, tugging on the reins slightly to get Varos to turn towards Ysgrig.

"Yes, actually. I have plenty of warnings, but I'll spare you the extraneous ones." Ysgrig began. "Never stop on the way to Riften. If you hear a dragon, either get Varos to hurry up, or take cover in a cave or a den in the mountainside. Stay away from rivers, and if you see any animal larger than a wolf, get out of the area immediately."

Ysgrig licked his lips. "And the most important bit of advice; if you come across anyone, and I mean _anyone,_ you had better stay away from them, and if they follow you, do not hesitate to kill them. Got it?" Ysgrig asked, looking into Kyrike's emerald eyes that put his own to shame. "Good. That's my boy." Ysgrig smiled, giving a nod of approval. "Be safe, son. We'll have the ceiling fixed by the time you and Valelia get back." Kyrike nodded, and Varos turned back around. The brown and black horse trotted along, building his speed up into a well-paced gallop. Ysgrig watched his son ride off until he and the horse faded off into the horizon.

Varos's hoofbeats echoed in the forest, startling birds from their trees. The eerie red sky loomed over the pair, though neither of them seemed to mind. Off in the distance, Kyrike could see a wolf arching its back as they approached. Kyrike gently brushed Varos's mane. "Just like we practiced, Varos." He whispered before leaning to the right. He pulled his shining katana from its sheath, grasping it firmly in his right hand. Just as Varos passed the wolf, Kyrike made a clean slice through the wolf's back. The beast whimpered, falling over to squirm in agony as crimson blood spilt from his fatal wound.

"Excellent job holding me up, Varos." Kyrike praised, sheathing his weapon. "Just a bit further. You're doing great." He rubbed his steed's neck, earning a nicker of appreciation from his beloved companion.

Varos gradually slowed as the city walls came within view. The guards at the gate eyed Kyrike suspiciously as he led Varos to the stables, tying him to a post. The helmeted fellows exchanged glances before straightening their postures as the auburn approached. "Halt. State your business, stranger." The taller guard ordered. "I'm searching for a friend. She's been lost, and I need to make sure she's alright." Kyrike explained, fearlessly looking the guard in the eyes.

The guards once again exchanged glances, but relaxed. "Alright, but don't try anything funny. If you so much as glance at someone's coinpurse, you'll find yourself behind bars." The guard warned as his partner unlocked the city gate.

The city of Riften had certainly seen better days. The flowers that had once bloomed in their gardening boxes were wilting, withered petals falling off with each gust of wind. Some of the bricks were missing from walls of buildings and shingles were missing from roofs. There was a dark, faded bloodstain on a rotting wooden post. The blood led to the wooden boardwalk, and it trailed off the unstable wooden planks to the canal. The water itself was looking quite murky, and had a peculiar greenish-red hue to it.

A middle-aged man leaned up against one of the fresher wooden posts, crossing his arms and glaring at the ground as if it had murdered his family. "Hey. Fella." The man morosely looked up at Kyrike upon hearing his words. "Got any idea where I could find the Ratway?" Kyrike asked, shifting his weight to his right leg. The man glared at Kyrike, silently scanning over him as if he were a book without a plot. He sighed, gesturing to the canal with his head. "Down there. Not sure why you have any business with the Thieves' Guild, though. Especially after…" He trailed off and shook his head, his hostile demeanor returning momentarily.

"Look, whaddaya want? No one comes to Riften unless they're lookin' for trouble." He spat. Kyrike gritted his teeth and bit back a retort. "My pa told me to ask the Thieves' Guild if they've seen our friend." The man sighed, unclenching his fists. "If you want the dirt on anyone or anything, I'm your guy, but it'll cost you." He grunted, crossing his arms again. "Her name's Valelia Sharp-Sun, but she also responds to 'Valie'. Anyone like that pass through here?" Kyrike questioned, fishing through his satchel until he pulled out a small coinpurse.

The gruff man's eyes widened. "Valelia Sharp-Sun? Gods above, boy! How do you know who she is?!" He asked, any hostility he'd previously had in his voice dissipating. "She's an old family friend. She and my aunt, Sarila, were friends, and she helped save her life along with my pa." Kyrike answered, his father's story of the rescue fresh in his mind. "Sarila? It's been so long since I've heard that name." The fellow looked up at the skies briefly before returning to look at the muscular teenager before him.

"How much do you want for information on Valelia?" Kyrike asked, offering him his coinpurse. The man shook his head. "No, no. This once, it's on the house. You'd better get down to the Ragged Flagon. Brynjolf's most likely going to have some information for you." He instructed. "My father mentioned Brynjolf. Who is he?" The auburn inquired. "Brynjolf's the second in command of the Guild. Would've ascended to be the leader, but he felt that either Valie or Sarila would be a better pick, and…well, Sarila…" He trailed off, not feeling like repeating what was already known. "But he and Valie were close, if you take my meaning. Go speak to Brynjolf right away, and tell him that ol' Maul sent you." The burly man, Maul, ordered. Kyrike nodded, heading to the stairs to the lower half of the city.

Kyrike had to kill a few skeevers in the Ratway before he found the door to the Ragged Flagon. He cautiously opened it in case not everyone was friendly. No one seemed to notice his sudden entrance, and he gently closed the door. He strode up to the bar, some of the thieves taking notice of him. He sat down at the bar, a bearded man with greying hair facing him from the other side of the counter. The fellow pursed his lips and leaned on the counter, looking Kyrike directly in the eyes.

"And who the hell are you?"

The thieves who were currently present in the Flagon all tuned in to the scene unfolding. Kyrike, not looking away from the man, furrowed his brow. "Kyrike Cairn-Spring. Son of Ysgrig Cairn-Spring, nephew of Sarila Cairn-Spring, grandson of Battori Cairn-Spring…shall I continue?" He asked, folding his hands. "Vekel, is it like he says?" The Redguard fence asked, crossing her arms.

Vekel wouldn't have believed Kyrike, but the resemblance to Ysgrig and Battori was uncanny. Vekel remained silent for a moment. "Indeed. What've you come for?" He asked, watching Kyrike's every move. "I need to speak with Brynjolf. My pa directed me to him, and the man outside, Maul, told me to see him immediately."

With no hesitation and no questions asked, Vekel led Kyrike into the cistern where Brynjolf was bent over in a book of Guild contacts. "Brynjolf." Vekel called, the red-haired man looking up. His beard had grown longer over the years, but his muscular form remained the same. "Kyrike Cairn-Spring is here to speak to you." Vekel informed him, stepping back into the Ragged Flagon to let the two red-haired men talk.

"Brynjolf, my father, Ysgrig, told me to come see you. I'm searching for Valelia Sharp-Sun, and seeing as you maintained a close relationship with her, it would seem that you'd know the last place she was seen, or the last place she was headed." Kyrike explained, patiently waiting for the older man to speak. Brynjolf's eyes softened at the mention of his lover. "Ah, well…Valie always was a sharp lass. Too sharp for her own good, even. Delvin Mallory, rest his soul, sent her up to Solitude to meet with a potential contact. Said he had a very important job for her. Prior to this job offer, we'd received similar contracts from Markarth, Whiterun, and Windhelm. Solitude was the final contract we'd need to restore the Guild to its former glory." Brynjolf paused, making sure Kyrike was following along.

"This was about ten, maybe eleven years ago. She headed up to Solitude, met with the contact. Word came back that the job went off without a hitch, but Valie never returned. Gulum-Ei, our fence in Solitude, mentioned that she had stopped by to get some goods fenced one day, and to his knowledge, she was never seen leaving the city." Brynjolf closed his eyes sorrowfully, picturing Valelia in his head. "What breaks my heart the most is that I'd told her I was too busy to speak with her before she left." Brynjolf concluded, his voice fading into a hoarse whisper.

Kyrike, usually stoic and emotionless, felt the slightest twinge of pity pooling in the pit of his stomach. "I…apologize." He looked away from the thief. "But this is why I came here. You've just given me the information I need to investigate further and find out where Valelia could have gone." Kyrike suddenly leaned in. "And I'm assuming you know of her role as…" He glanced left and right before continuing to whisper. "Dragonborn." Brynjolf's eyes went wide. "You know, too?" Kyrike nodded. "Without Valelia, your Guild is not only without a leader, but all of Nirn is without its savior. Look around you, Brynjolf. This world is getting worse and worse, and dozens of people are dying every day." He explained. "I wasn't born in the timeframe to know an era of constant peace, but I _do_ know that this world is unfit for men, Mer, and beastfolk alike to live in."

Brynjolf took a moment to absorb what was happening. "I'll find her, Brynjolf. I know that Valelia is still alive, even if others may doubt it. Your love will return to you." Kyrike reassured him as he hopped up the ladder to the surface, Brynjolf still thinking everything over.


	7. The Mysterious Maclyrniarth

"That's quite a layer of armor you've got on."

Kyrike unsheathed his katana when the disembodied voice spoke. "Hello? Who's there?" He asked, searching the area. "Hey, relax! I'm not some savage from the woods who crept into the city to kill people." The voice replied, and Kyrike could practically hear the person rolling their eyes. "Then why are you hiding?" He bit back, not loosening his grip on the katana's hilt.

The person let out a dry laugh. "Hiding? Me?" Kyrike narrowed his eyes when he heard chuckling. "Why don't you look up, numbskull?"

Kyrike looked upwards, and sure enough, there was a woman atop the Bee and Barb. "That's better. You should really keep your eyes open, you know. Someone could jump off one of these buildings and attack you." She sarcastically warned, leaping from the building. She bent her knees slightly as she landed, quickly fixing her posture as she walked over to Kyrike. She looked him up and down. "Some kind of aspiring warrior, I suppose?" She asked, eyeing his katana and scaly armor.

The woman herself was seemingly harmless; a young lady about his age. She appeared to have some sort of athletic abilities, Kyrike thought, since she had somehow gotten on top of the tavern and jumped down without an injury. She had shoulder-length hair that was a sort of mixture of orange and blonde, her face was streaked with soot, and her eyes were a pale brown. She wore sapphire-studded silver armor, a sight that was not common in a choice of protection, and in her sheathes were an oddly pointed dagger and a crooked dwarven axe. Kyrike remained silent, not sure what to make of this mysterious woman. "My name is Kyrike Cairn-Spring. Have you seen anyone named Valelia Sharp-Sun around here?" He asked, sheathing his katana for good measure.

The woman rolled her eyes. "No. I'm not exactly the type of person you'd call 'sociable'. By the way, I'm Maclyrniarth Long-Pierced, thanks for asking." She sarcastically introduced, glaring at Kyrike. "Maclyrniarth?" Kyrike dumbly asked. She scoffed. "Yeah, 's what I said, isn't it?" She rolled her eyes. "You can call me Mac if you're the type of person who can't pronounce things easily. Not much difference to me." Mac shrugged, walking past Kyrike.

Kyrike watched as Mac broke into a sprint, hopping over the boardwalk fence. She gracefully sailed through the air, descending on the adjacent boardwalk. The auburn man walked across the bridge to follow her. "So who's this Valelia you're looking for?" She asked, wiping a smear of dirt off her hands. "She's an old family friend who went missing years back. We haven't heard from her since, and I wanted to go find her."

"Well, would you look at that; a fella concerned for the well-being of his friends!" Mac laughed, clapping Kyrike on the back. "That's so heartwarming, I might actually have to tag along!" She giggled, brushing hair from her soot-stained face. "Nah, probably not. Don't mistake my departure for dislike, I just have places to be. Best of luck to you." She broke into another sprint and leapt onto a barrel, quickly jumping up to grab a protruding ledge on the walls of Haelga's bunkhouse. Kyrike watched in awe as she climbed up on top of the building with ease. Mac looked back down.

"I'll be seeing you, stranger. Be safe." She told him with a hint of concern and softness in her voice. She turned back around and ran across the roof, making a final leap over the city's thick walls.

Kyrike walked by Maul, who had witnessed the exchange between the two. "I see you've met Maclyrniarth. She's the adventuring type, and whenever she comes back to Riften, she brings back a bunch of supplies to sell, and on the occasion, she'll even deal with stolen goods." Maul informed him. "Does she come by often?" He inquired, shielding his eyes from the leaves that blew towards him in the wind. "Eh. About every two months. She's been known to sell her sword as a mercenary every so often, but she returns mainly to pawn off the goods she's come across on her adventures. She's had some ties with the Guild or so I've heard, which is why Tonilia fences for her." Maul explained. "Heard anythin' on Valie?" He suddenly asked. Kyrike nodded, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. "Indeed. Brynjolf directed me to Solitude, as that's the last place she was seen. Hopefully I'll be able to get some more tips and scour the city for clues."

Maul was almost starting to respect this red-haired warrior who had come into town. "You be careful out there, y'hear? Bring our Guildmaster back to us safe and sound." Maul ordered. Kyrike nodded. "I'll do what I can. Valie will come back alive." Kyrike reassured, walking to the gate. Maul nodded, watching as the young warrior exited the city. "Don't get killed out there, kid. We're all countin' on you."


	8. Listen

"Alright, Varos. We're almost there." Kyrike informed his horse. Varos whinnied exhaustedly, slowing down slightly to conserve his energy. "Just a bit further and we'll stop for water." He assured, soothingly stroking his companion's soft neck. "You can slow down a little, we'll get there before sundown." He looked up at the city of Solitude that sat perfectly on its natural arch. "I've never been here before, though. I guess I'll have to ask someone at the bar if they could point me towards that Gulum-Ei fellow Brynjolf mentioned." He mumbled to himself.

The duo had made it to Solitude with no trouble, and Varos had been tied to a post at the stables as Kyrike marched up the hill to the city. The guard at the gate eyed him, having never seen Kyrike around the area before, but let him inside without a fuss, directing him to the Winking Skeever.

The moment Kyrike entered the Winking Skeever, he heard someone shout. A split second later, he found himself in the path of a flying bottle of alto wine. He ducked, the bottle smashing into the door and shattering into dozens of tiny glass fragments. "What's going on?" He asked, recovering from the temporary shock he'd received. He looked around the tavern to see a man and a young woman fighting. "I'm the older brother, and I say we run things my way!" The man snarled. "I don't give a skeever's arse if you're the older brother. Papa would have wanted us to have equal control over his inn!" The younger sister squawked back.

Kyrike cleared his throat and crossed his arms, the angry siblings turning towards him simultaneously. "Oh! A customer!" The man exclaimed, he and his sister rushing to their spots behind the bar. "Welcome to the Winking Skeever, good sir. How can we help you today?" The man asked. "Sorry, sir. My pigheaded brother should have introduced himself first." The girl shot her brother a dirty look. "I'm Minette Vinius. This is my brother, Sorex Vinius, and we're happy to provide our services to you here." She told Kyrike with a smile. Kyrike approached the bar. "Thank you. Would either of you happen to have seen a 'Gulum-Ei' around here?" He queried.

"Did someone call me?" A voice asked from somewhere behind Kyrike. "He's usually in the chair by the window." Sorex gestured behind Kyrike. Kyrike turned around to see an Argonian in a chair. He sipped on a bottle of Colovian Brandy and gave Kyrike a curt nod. "You carry the scent of the Thieves' Guild. A new member, I presume?" He asked, looking Kyrike up and down. Kyrike shook his head. "No. I am, however, a friend of Valelia Sharp-Sun, and I was told that you were one of the last people who had seen her. Can you tell me where you last saw her?" He inquired, patiently waiting for the Argonian to respond.

Gulum-Ei sighed. "Years ago, she came here to complete a special contract for the Guild. Erikur, one of the Thanes of the Court of Solitude, was her employer. He wanted a ship captain by the name of Volf imprisoned for breaking a promise he'd made to Erikur. Valie planted Balmora Blue in his ship's footlocker and got him hauled off to the dungeons for the remainder of his life, and the Guild's influence skyrocketed in Solitude, but Valelia went missing not even an hour later. None of my men in the East Empire Shipping Company saw her leave the city, and I haven't caught her scent on the wind." The Argonian explained, beckoning Kyrike closer.

"Between you and me, I think some kind of otherworldly force had something to do with this. Where else could she have gone?" He asked, Kyrike thinking everything over. "You say an otherworldly force could have been the cause of her mysterious disappearance. Has anything unusual happened? Anything out of the ordinary?" Kyrike questioned, scratching his stubbly chin.

"Well, if it's unusual you want to know about, there's been a strange Bosmer man wandering the streets by the Bards College for around eighteen years now. He's always going on and on about how his master abandoned him. I think you should go speak with this unusual character." Gulum-Ei suggested. "The Bards College is only a short walk away from the training yard and is a few buildings away from the Blue Palace. You can't miss it. Just listen for the music and you'll find it." Kyrike nodded. "Thank you." He walked to the door. "Please bring Valelia back. We've been disorderly without her." Gulum-Ei called as Kyrike exited the inn.


	9. The Forbidden Wing

Kyrike, guided by the moonlight, strolled through the city of Solitude. He kept his eyes peeled for the man Gulum-Ei had mentioned. As the lizard had told him, the fellow was wandering around by the Bards College.

Kyrike squinted. He could see an elderly Bosmer man with a scraggly beard and ragged robes. He slowly approached the mysterious elf, and the man in question turned around, staring at Kyrike with his blackened eyes. Kyrike was almost startled, and backed up a few steps. "Wait!" The man shouted, stopping Kyrike in his tracks. "Hear my plea! My master, he is lost in between worlds and I cannot bring him back! My master has abandoned me! Abandoned his people. And nothing I say can change his mind." The man cried, his chaotic voice calming with each sentence spoken. He suddenly frowned.

"Now he refuses to even see me. He says I interrupt his vacation! It's been so many years…won't you please help?" He begged. Kyrike remained silent. "If he won't speak to you, why don't you just leave your master?" Kyrike asked, crossing his arms. The man huffed, clearly frustrated with the auburn's response. "Oh, you just don't understand. Without him, I am not free! Without him, I am doomed! All of his empire shall fall into chaos!" He frantically exclaimed, practically foaming at the mouth. "Alright, alright. I get the message. How can I find him?"

"Last I saw him, he was visiting a friend in the Blue Palace. But no one as mundane as the Jarl. No, no…such people are below him." The Bosmer explained, Kyrike growing more and more confused each time the man spoke. "No, he went into the Forbidden Wing of the palace, to speak with an old friend. Said it had been ages since they had last had tea." The man suddenly grew despondent. "But…you'll never find him. The last one couldn't. No, no. She couldn't."

"Who? Who was the last one? Who was she?" Kyrike urged, the man's eyes widening. "Uh, well, uh…she had special leather armor, red hair up in braids, and the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Bluer than—" "Where is she? Where did she go?" Kyrike demanded, the man growing slightly frightened. "I-into the Forbidden Wing of the palace! I gave her the hip bone. No entering Pelagius' Wing without that. Without it, you'll never find her, or my master."

Before the man had finished speaking, Kyrike made a run for the Blue Palace. He slowed down before he reached the outer gates so as not to make the guards wary. He casually strode into the palace, giving the guards at the door a curt nod of acknowledgement.

 _Alright, Kyrike. If anyone's got the keys to the "Forbidden Wing", it's the Jarl, the steward, and the maids. I feel as if I'd have a better chance asking the maids for the key._

Kyrike looked around the palace and strode through the kitchen. Miraculously, the castle staff quarters were just beyond the kitchen, and Kyrike walked down the hall. A tall Nord woman with dirty blonde hair swept the floor, gathering up all the dust that it had accumulated. She briefly looked up when she saw Kyrike approaching. "Good evening m'lady. I must ask for your assistance, for I need to get into the Pelagius Wing." Kyrike told her.

She raised an eyebrow. "Not on your life. It's dangerous in there, and Falk doesn't even like me and Erdi going in every year to clean out the spiders." Kyrike concluded that Falk was the Jarl's steward. "Falk asked me to check it out. I've been hearing rumors about a young woman's disappearance in that wing." Kyrike informed her. The maid's eyes widened. "You heard about that? Gods…" She sighed, setting the broom against the wall as she fished through her satchel. "If you really want to…" She pulled out the key to the Forbidden Wing. "Just be careful of the ghost! He snuck up on me once and scared me sick. It took a week for me to feel better." She warned, shuddering at the memory. Kyrike took the key gratefully. "Thank you, miss. I'll go check it out immediately."

Kyrike had left the staff quarters, heading to the left side of the palace. A door with a rusted handle and cobwebs beneath it stood firmly, blocking him from the Pelagius Wing. Kyrike inserted the key and unlocked the door, satisfied with his progress.

The Forbidden Wing was shrouded in darkness. Light was scarce, only coming from the dimly lit candles that had made their home in the Wing. Dozens of cobwebs were scattered about, tables and chairs were overturned, and several bottles, plates, and goblets were carelessly placed in various areas. Kyrike looked to his left to see a slightly illuminated room with a staircase. He scoured the room for clues as he carefully ascended the stairs.

When he had reached the top, he found a hallway lit up by the moonlight streaming through the dusty windows. On the rugs that occupied the hall's floor was a hip bone.

Kyrike carefully approached the hip bone. "This is what that crazed man was talking about. Maybe if I…" He bent over slightly, tapping the hip bone. The hip bone rattled slightly on the ground, rocking back and forth until it came to a stop. Kyrike reached out once more and picked it up.

The last thing he heard before his vision was clouded by darkness was a strange clicking sound.


	10. The Mind Of Madness

"More tea, Pelly my dear?" A loud voice asked, cheerfully lilting.

Kyrike's vision slowly returned. He looked around. It appeared that he had been warped to a strange sanctuary. Several leafless trees swayed in the wind, their lifeless branches scraping against each other. The area was shrouded in a veil of mist, and before Kyrike was a large wooden table. On the table was an array of foods such as apples, mammoth snout, and cheese.

"Oh, I couldn't. Goes right through me. Besides, I have so many things to do." Came the reply to the previous question. "So many undesirables to contend with. Naysayers. Buffoons. Detractors. Why, my…my headsman hasn't slept in three days!" He continued, a blank look upon his ghastly face.

"You are far too hard on yourself, my dear, sweet, homicidally insane Pelagius. What would the people do without you? Dance? Sing? Smile? Grow old?" The boisterous man in an unusual purple and red suit asked, chuckling between words. "You are the best Septim that's ever ruled…well, except for that Martin fella. But he turned into a Dragon God, and that's hardly sportin'." He continued. "You know, I was there for that whole sorted affair. Marvelous time!" He shouted, a wide, toothy grin on his face. "Butterflies, blood, a fox, _a severed head!_ Oh, and the CHEESE!" Kyrike backed up. "To die for." The crazed man finished, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

The man, Pelagius, rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. As you've said countless times before." He drawled, emphasizing the word 'countless'. Kyrike watched as the suited man yelled at Pelagius, seeming to disapprove of his sarcasm. Pelagius disappeared in a cloud of blue, zapping sounds echoing through the small clearing as another person took his place. "Ah, Pelly was always a spoilsport anyhow. _You,_ however, know how to bring out a good time!" The man guffawed.

 _Valelia!_

"Thank the Nine that ol' pompous fella's gone! I've got quite a lot o' things on my mind, ye know!" Valie exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Oh, no…" Kyrike sighed. "Ye know, a slaughterfish can hear ye thinkin' just before ye sneeze! It's true, my friend! Go and ask the five in the creek who found themselves caught in their jaws!" Valelia laughed, snorting loudly as she downed a bottle of mead.

 _She's…insane!_

"How rude!" The man suddenly shouted, and Kyrike found himself the subject of two pairs of glaring eyes. "Can't be bothered to host an old friend for a decade or two!" Kyrike blinked, the man's eyes glowing eerily. "Who…were you talking to just then?" He asked, hoping to calm the angry lunatic. "Emperor Pelagius III. Now surely even you know about Pelagius' decree? On his deathbed-oh, and this was inspired-he forbade…death! That's right! Death! Outlawed!" The crazed man laughed, Valelia joining him. Her braids swung around wildly as her maniacal laughs filled the clearing.

"Now, I know what yer thinkin'…where are we? Huh? HUH?!" Valie stood up, approaching Kyrike, who was beyond disturbed. "We're inside the mind of Pelagius, silly!" She crowed. "Ah, Scaly-Valie, it's his first time." The man whispered, his voice slightly calming. "I'm…just here to deliver a message…and…and…" The lunatic put a hand to his ear. "Speak up, fella! Decades of nothin' but Pelly's mind can really do somethin' to a guy!" "I'm here to deliver a message and get my friend, Valelia, back." Kyrike firmly replied, crossing his arms.

"Reeaaaallllyyyy?" Valie and the crazed man asked at the same time. "Ooh, ooh, what kind of message? A song?" He asked. "No, ye old snow fox! A summons!" The lunatic pushed Valie aside. "I know! I know! A death threat written on the back on an Argonian concubine! Those are my favorite." He wistfully smiled.

 _This is surreal._

The man grew frustrated at Kyrike's silence. "Well? Spit it out, mortal. I haven't got an eternity!" He yelled, Kyrike slinking away from him. "Actually…I do. Little joke." He chuckled. "But seriously. What's the message?"

"I was asked to retrieve you from your vacation." Kyrike answered simply. "Were ya now? By whom?" He asked. Kyrike opened his mouth to speak. "WAIT! Don't tell me! I want to guess!" Kyrike shut his mouth and waited for the crazy fellow to guess. "Was it Molag? No, no…Little Tim, the toymaker's son, eh? The ghost of King Lysandus? Or was it…yes! Stanley, that talking grapefruit from Passwall." He laughed maniacally, slinging an arm around Valie's neck as she joined him in laughter. "Wrong on all accounts, aren't I?" He queried, the crazed look never disappearing from his face. "Ha! No matter! Honestly, I don't want to know. Why ruin the surprise?"

Kyrike was getting more and more impatient by the second. "But more to the point. Do you—tiny, puny, expendable little mortal—actually think you can convince me to leave? Because that's…crazy."

 _If anyone's crazy, it's you._

"You do realize who you're dealing with here?" "You're a madman." "Jolly good guess! But only half right. I'm a mad god. _The_ Mad God, actually. It's a family title. Gets passed down from me to myself every few thousand years." He explained. Valelia got on the ground and rolled into a ball, running her fingers up and down her lips to make trilling noises. Kyrike looked back up at the madman. "Now you. You can call me Ann Marie. But only if you're partial to being flayed alive and having an angry immortal skip rope with your entrails." Kyrike stayed silent. "If not…then call me Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness. Charmed." He introduced.

Kyrike sighed, frustrated. "So does that mean you'll leave or not?" He asked, crossing his arms again. "Now that's the real question, isn't it? Because honestly, how much time off could a demented Daedra really need?" Kyrike remained silent so as to not interrupt the Daedra. "So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to leave. That's right. I'm done. Holiday…complete. Time to return to the hum drum day-to-day." Kyrike couldn't believe what he was hearing. "On one condition." Kyrike nodded eagerly.

"You have to find the way out first. Not only out of Pelagius' mind…but Valelia's as well! Good luck with that." He smiled maliciously. Kyrike glared. "Okay, what's the catch?" He growled. "Ha! I do love it when the mortals know they're being manipulated. Makes things infinitely more interesting. Care to take a look around? This is not, I dare say, the Solitude botanical gardens. Have you any idea where you are? Where you truly are?" He questioned, his voice growing louder. Kyrike shook his head, slowly coming to terms with what was going on.

"Welcome to the deceptively verdant mind of the Emperor Pelagius III. That's right! You're in the head of a dead, homicidally insane monarch. Now, I know what you're thinking. Can I still rely on my swords and spells and sneaking and all that nonsense? Sure, sure. Or…you could use…The Wabbajack! Huh? Huh?! Didn't see that coming, did you?" He grinned.

Kyrike suddenly felt something in his right hand. He looked down to see an oddly carved staff with different faces on each side. "The Wabbajack?" He looked over at Sheogorath, who scoffed. "Do you mind? I'm busy doing the fishstick. It's a very delicate state of mind!" He snapped. Kyrike looked down at Valie, who was rolling around on the ground. "I'm a barrel, Mister Sir! I'll hold onto aaaaallll yer apples!" She shouted, rolling quicker. Kyrike sighed. "Looks like I'm on my own."


	11. Through The Depths Of His Mind

Kyrike wandered to the stone arch closest to him, wary of his surroundings. When he was halfway across the path, Sheogorath's voice rang in his mind.

"Ah, now this is a sad path. Pelagius hated and feared many things. Assassins, wild dogs, the undead, pumpernickel…" His lilting, accented voice told him. "But the deepest, keenest hatred was for himself." As Kyrike neared the end of the path, he could see a man in Imperial armor throwing punches at a microscopic man who was about knee's height. "The attacks he makes on himself can be seen here fully. They are always carried out on the weakest part of his fragile self. The self-loathing enhances Pelagius' anger! Ah, but his confidence will shrink with every hit. You must bring the two into balance."

Kyrike watched the taller man beat up the tiny fellow. "What in Oblivion is that supposed to mean?" He mumbled, watching the short man take each hit without complaining. "Perhaps…" Kyrike began. "Perhaps the bigger of the two…is Pelagius' anger, and the tiny fellow is his confidence?" Kyrike tightened his grasp on the Wabbajack. He felt an intense energy surge through the staff, lightening the eyes of the faces that had been flawlessly carved into the wood. The Wabbajack shuddered and shook until Kyrike lost control, an orb of red magic shooting out of the staff. The orb flew directly into the shorter man.

He disappeared in an explosion of reddish smoke, only to reappear slightly taller. "Never should have come here!" Confidence yelled, running up to fight back against Anger. Kyrike charged up the Wabbajack once more, releasing another red orb into Confidence. He grew until he was as tall as Anger.

Two ghostlike beings appeared, slicing into Confidence with their weapons. "Self-doubt…" Kyrike mumbled, charging up the Wabbajack. He released two orbs—one into Confidence, and one into Anger. Confidence grew taller once more, and Anger shrunk a size.

After a few minutes, Kyrike had finished firing orbs of magic, and Confidence returned to his normal size, while the two Self-Doubt figures and Anger disappeared. "Wonderfully done," Sheogorath's voice praised. "Pelagius is finally ready to love himself…and continue hating everyone else."

Kyrike returned to the glade and ran to the stone arch adjacent to the path he'd just left. "Oh, good choice. Well, good for me." Kyrike raised an eyebrow as he listened to Sheogorath in his head. "I find everyone being out to get you so terribly entertaining. You might find it…less so." He laughed as Kyrike ran up the steps to an ampitheatre. "You see, Pelagius' mother was…well…let us say 'unique.' Although, I suppose in the grand scheme of things, she was fairly average for a Septim. That woman wielded fear like a cleaver. Or did she wield a cleaver and make people afraid? I never get that part right…" Sheogorath confusedly mumbled.

"Oh, but she taught her son well. Pelagius learned at a very early age that danger could come from anywhere. At any time. Delivered…by anyone." His voice lowered eerily as Kyrike reached the top of the stairs.

In the pit of the amphitheatre was a pair of storm atronachs fighting each other with intense rage unlike any Kyrike had seen before. Across from him, there was a ledge with three thrones with three abnormally dressed people sitting in them, watching the fight. Kyrike looked down at the storm atronachs and back at the people. He charged up the Wabbajack and shot a stream of magic into the person closest to him.

Two of the people turned into wolves. They hopped up from their thrones and pounced on the man in between them, ripping him apart. Kyrike watched as the wolves pounced on the man, causing him to fall to his death into the pit. "Oho! I thought you'd never figure it out. With the threat gone, Pelagius is under the delusion that he is safe, which means you've helped him…sort of. And we're that much closer to home." Kyrike ran down the stony steps and dashed back to the glade, an odd, frosty feeling consuming him. He went through the final stone arch.

"You've headed down the path of dreams. Unfortunately for you, Pelagius suffered night terrors from a young age." "Oh, well of course he did. Just makes my life harder." Kyrike growled. As if sensing Kyrike's impatience, Sheogorath's booming voice spoke again. "All you need to do is find something to wake our poor Pelagius up. You'll find his terrors easy to repel…but persistent." A bed with a sleeping man came into view in the otherwise desolate clearing.

Kyrike walked up to the bed and aimed the Wabbajack at Pelagius, another red orb flying into his body. A cloud of red appeared a few feet away, and out of it came a wolf. The wolf lunged at Kyrike, who had already released another red orb from the Wabbajack. The wolf disappeared in another red cloud, and in its place was a harmless goat.

Kyrike repeated his previous steps. A bandit chief that had spawned from the mist became a young boy. A hagraven turned into a beautiful woman. A flame atronach changed into a crackling fire pit, and the dragon priest that had come from the shadows was quickly turned into a chest. Pelagius shot up out of bed, seeming to have awoken from his nightmares. "Well now, _that's_ something to crow about. With Pelagius up and about, you're moving right along. We'll both be home in no time!"

Kyrike took a look around the clearing until his emerald eyes came to rest on the beautiful woman. He looked her up and down. Her tiny hips were complimented by a nice, round waist, her eyes were an azure blue, and her unscarred cheeks were a rosy pink. Her hair was short and perfectly combed over, and she walked with a sway of her hips that he couldn't ignore. Kyrike, entranced by the beautiful vixen, walked over to her. "Good…evening, my lady. How are you this fine evening?" He asked, the corners of his lips curling upwards in a slight smile.

The woman frowned, her eyes sinking. "My wife died. Things aren't going to be the same." Her masculine voice brought a gasp from deep within Kyrike's throat. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, seeing as what I've been through since I got here." Kyrike sighed, walking out of the clearing.

He approached Sheogorath, who gave him an evil grin. "You appear to have gotten through to my dear old pal, Pelly. However…" He looked over at Valelia, who seemed to have gotten tired of rolling around on the ground. "You've still got _her_ mind to deal with." "Oh, no."


	12. A Final Test

"See now, mortal? This isn't so bad." Sheogorath's mischievous voice rang in Kyrike's head.

The landscape of Valelia's mind was unique. The area was layered with dreamlike mist, accentuated by a fiery red hue. Several eerie giggles echoed, bouncing back and forth in Kyrike's ears. "Sheogorath, I know you've got something else up your sleeve. What do I have to do?" Kyrike asked, looking down at the Wabbajack.

"Aha! See, there it is again! I love when mortals know they're being played with…toys to us Daedra!" Sheogorath laughed wickedly. "Weeeelll…there is one teensy-weensy itty-bitty little tiny thing you have to do…it's merely an everyday responsibility of our dear _Dragonborn._ " Kyrike could hear the smirk in his voice.

The ground began to rumble, Kyrike looking around him for the source. The soft grass of the ground began to break, bits of dirt and rock flying up into the air. The dragon buried beneath it emerged with a fearsome roar, shaking the rubble from his wings and body as he took to the skies. Kyrike's pupils constricted, his heart speeding up. "I should have known you'd try and get me killed!" He shouted, looking up at the sky as if Sheogorath were lingering above him. The Daedra chuckled. "Killed? Oh, no! I think not. You can't take on this fella alone, little guy…but perhaps if you had some help, things would move along?"

Several chickens wandered near Kyrike's feet, pecking at the ground aimlessly as though they were unaware of the dangerous dragon that flew overhead. Kyrike, realizing what Sheogorath meant, charged the Wabbajack and unleashed a blast of magic upon one of the chickens. He stepped back, watching the chicken explode and morph into a Nord with a full set of Stormcloak armor. The Stormcloak unsheathed his blade and prepared himself as the dragon landed. He struck the dragon with his sword, letting out a fierce cry as he punctured the beast's scaly skin.

Kyrike had charged up the Wabbajack several more times, several more red orbs of the Daedric magic embedding themselves into the chickens. More soldiers arose, their weapons at the ready, and they joined the battle with the dragon.

After a good fifteen minutes, the soldiers still hadn't killed the dragon.

"Hey, what's the big idea here, Daedra? How is this beast still alive?!" Kyrike growled. He received several hearty laughs in response. "You mortals are all the same, forgetting the most important factors of…well, everything! Figure yourself out!" He bellowed. Kyrike frantically looked around, no more chickens in sight. He charged up the Wabbajack and aimed it at a soldier, who was hacking away at the dragon's scales. The red orb that was released into the man did nothing.

 _"You mortals are all the same, forgetting the most important factors of…well, everything! Figure yourself out!"_

Sheogorath's taunts replayed in Kyrike's head as he just narrowly missed a stream of fireballs that came his way.

 _"Figure yourself out!"_

Something clicked in Kyrike's head at that very moment in time. He charged the Wabbajack and pointed it at himself. He closed his eyes and released the stream of magic into his own chest.

He felt an unusual sensation sweep his body, and when he opened his eyes, he found several long, auburn braids dangling from his head. His chest was larger, two mounds of flesh occupying his otherwise flat chest, and he had grown a few inches shorter. It was then that he realized that he had been transformed into Valelia Sharp-Sun, the Dragonborn herself.

He unsheathed his sword, or what he had recognized as Valie's choice weapon, a bluish, icy glass sword, and dashed over to the dragon. Kyrike leapt up onto the dragon's head, clinging onto the monster's horns as it struggled to throw him off, and he sunk the sword deep inside the dragon's skull, piercing its brain. He hopped off the dragon as it collapsed, shaking the dreamlike landscape.

Kyrike and the soldiers all returned to their normal selves, the dragon's body slowly being consumed by shadows, glowing a bright red before exploding, tiny bits of dragon bones and scales showering the sanctum of Valie's mind.

Sheogorath appeared before Kyrike, an amused smile on his face. "I've fixed her mind. Let us go." Kyrike sternly ordered. Sheogorath chuckled. "'Fixed' is a subjective term. I think 'treated' is far more appropriate, don't you? Like one does to a rash, or an arrow to the face. Ah, but no matter. Heartless mortal that you are, you've actually succeeded and survived. I am forced to honor my end of the bargain. So congratulations! You're free to go!" Sheogorath grinned before replacing his smile with a grim, almost pained expression. "I…have been known to change my mind. So…go. Really."

Kyrike watched Sheogorath mumble to himself before making final preparations to leave. "Let's make sure I'm not forgetting anything. Clothes? Check. Beard? Check. Luggage? …Luggage! Now where did I leave my luggage?" He asked. The crazed Daedra pointed in front of him, a purple cloud of magic appearing. From the cloud, the wood elf, Dervenin, and Valie appeared. Valie was curled on the ground in a ball, rocking herself back and forth while babbling nonsense. Dervenin approached his master, excitedly greeting him after decades of absence.

Kyrike approached Valie, kneeling down to speak to her. "Valelia? Can you hear me? Do you remember who I am?" He gently asked, waving a hand in front of her dazed face. She firmly grasped his hand and pulled it towards her, licking every inch of it. Kyrike grimaced and pulled back his slobbery hand, Valie laughing crazily.

"And as for you, my little mortal minion…feel free to keep the Wabbajack. As a symbol of my…" Sheogorath sighed and rubbed his temples. "Oh, just take the damn thing." "Wait, what about Valie?" Kyrike asked, crossing his arms. "Ah, yes…Scaly Valie. Eh. Rest assured, I'll wipe her mind clean. No memories of any of our previous shenanigans off in Pelly's mind…she'll remember everything leading up to entering here. Probably." He snickered, waving goodbye as darkness once again clouded Kyrike's vision.

Kyrike opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground in the Forbidden Wing, Valie lying next to him. "Valelia, wake up." He told her, gently shaking her awake. He stood up when she began to stir, and she quickly got on her feet. "Where…am I? Who are you? How do you know my name? Speak, stranger." Valelia looked Kyrike over suspiciously. "Valie…it's me. Kyrike Cairn-Spring." Kyrike waited for her response. She shook her head. "That's…impossible. I have no clue what just happened to me, but you're not Kyrike. The lad was only eight years old last I saw him." Valelia wistfully smiled at the memories of playing with Kyrike in his younger years. Kyrike sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Valelia, I need you to brace yourself…you've been missing for ten years."


	13. The Dragonborn Comes

**A/N: Hey guys, I've been working as hard as I can, what with school back up again. I came home today, flopped down on my bed, and fell asleep for like 6+ hours…so I'm pulling an all-nighter to try and get some more chapters to you guys. As always, reviews are appreciated so let me know how I'm doing, thanks for sticking with me and all that sweet jazz, to the story!**

"What? I…no. No sir, I'm not going to believe it. I don't know where I went or what happened to me, but I don't feel any different." Valelia glared at Kyrike. "Valie, look outside." He ordered sternly. "What for?" She crossed her arms. "Just do it!" He growled.

Valie rolled her eyes and turned to the window. She wiped away a layer of dust and cobwebs that had formed on the neglected glass and looked outside. The fiery red sky was streaked with black clouds billowing from an unfortunate village off in the distance. A distant symphony of roars ripped through the sky, followed by the faint sound of heavy wingbeats.

"By the Gods…what happened here, laddie? Where…where are we?!" She asked incredulously. "This is Skyrim. The Dragon Crisis has gone on for far too long…more and more people die each day, whether it be by dragons, bandits, murder, starvation, or disease." Kyrike explained, watching Valelia's facial expressions change into shock, fear, and shame. "So it's true…it _has_ been ten years." She mumbled, rubbing her temples. "I went around Tamriel fighting and killing dragons for eight years before I disappeared…yet it made no difference." Her grim expression turned into a weak smile.

"So…you _are_ Kyrike." Valie grinned, tears of joy and sadness filling her eyes. She pulled Kyrike in for a hug, Kyrike's able arms wrapping around the body of his long-lost friend. "You've grown so much since ye were a boy. Tell me, who all is left at the Home?" She asked. "Caehir's dead. Omir lost a finger a few weeks back, and his tail is pretty injured. The ceiling broke after a dragon landed on it, and when another one flew overhead, the ceiling completely collapsed. Everyone else is fine as far as I know, and we have a newcomer, Evada."

Valie weakly nodded at the mention of Caehir's death. "Aye. I should have known that someone would have died because of me." She mumbled. "Valelia, this isn't your fault. As crazy as this sounds, you were trapped by the Daedric Prince Sheogorath inside of a dead Emperor's mind for ten years. You…eh, went a bit mad, if you ask me. Thankfully, he wiped your mind of all the memories there, so you seem to be functional." Kyrike explained, noting the absence of the glint of insanity that had filled her eyes in Sheogorath's little "reunion."

"On the bright side, I don't seem to feel any…" Valie's eyes suddenly grew desperate. "Where's Brynjolf? Is he alright?" She asked. Kyrike nodded. "Easy, Valie. Brynjolf is exactly the way you left him…give or take ten years. He misses you greatly." "I'd like to go back to Riften and see him. After that, I'm going to need yer help." Valelia told Kyrike.

Kyrike curiously raised an eyebrow. "You need my help? With what?" "Well, the Dragon Crisis is still going on, and I'm going to need some assistance if I ever find myself delving into caves or battling dragons. Ye were trained specially by yer father as a child. Toughest kid I ever saw. Tougher than Lyvette." Valie sighed at the memory of the little girl. "Wasn't she aunt Sarila's daughter?" Kyrike queried. "Aye. Adopted daughter, that is. Poor lass. Lyvette never deserved the type o' death she got in that Falmer Hive."

Kyrike felt a wave of regret wash over him. He'd been told that Lyvette was eight years older than him, and she'd died only about a week or so after he was born. According to his father, Lyvette had actually been there for his birth, and had helped entertain his mother to ease her labor pains. Had Lyvette still been alive, she could have had a husband, kids, and could have lived out her life in adulthood. After her gruesome demise, she would never be able to enjoy the rest of her life, leaving Kyrike to wonder what could have been.

"Will ye do it? Will ye help me, Kyrike?" Kyrike blinked when Valie suddenly started talking to him again. "I will. I'll do anything if it means the end to this blight on our world." Kyrike promised. Valie nodded. "Thank you. Before we do anything, I'm going to need to climb to High Hrothgar on the Throat of the World. It's going to be a long journey, but with you by my side, I'm sure I'll have nothing to worry about, and this Dragon Crisis will be over in no time."

For the first time in months, Kyrike broke out into a full smile. 


	14. Nightstalkers

"How much further do you think we need to go?" Kyrike asked, holding Varos' reins firmly in his hands. "We passed the border about ten minutes ago, and Morthal is most likely fifteen minutes from here, so I'd say we could stop for the night and head out tomorrow." Valie replied, looking at the scorched trees that loomed over them as they slowly rode through the eerie swamplands of Hjaalmarch. "In truth, I'd rather not stop at Morthal. The vampire problems are worse than they were before you disappeared. The way I hear it, some poor bastard gets snatched up in the dead of night every week." Kyrike informed her. Valelia sighed. "I know things are bad nowadays, but we've really got no other choice. We're stuck between a rock and a hard place…either sleep at the town's inn with risk of vampire attacks, or sleep outside with risk of dragons, chaurus, spiders, and more vampire attacks." She replied, brushing her overgrown locks of hair from her face.

Several loud screams were heard off in the distance. "Dammit. Trouble's coming. We have to go help." Kyrike gave Varos a gentle tug on the reins, and he galloped at the speed of light to the town of Morthal, relying solely on the Twin Moons to light their path.

"Help! Guards!" "Oh, Gods! My girl!" "Please, someone do something!"

Kyrike gave a nod to Valie, and she unsheathed her new glass sword. Kyrike quickly took his katana from its sheath, and the two dismounted Varos. Varos gave a whinny of reassurance, and he trotted off towards the nearest building to wait for the two. "Mama, papa, help!"

Kyrike and Valie ran around the corner of the building until they saw a crowd of figures, some panicked, some giving chase to others. A man was tackled to the ground by a woman in red and black armor with a cape. He yelled out as she bit into his chest, then into his throat as his cries of pain ceased. Valie dashed over to the vampire and stuck her sword through the woman's heart. She hissed and reached out for Valie for a brief moment before she went limp.

While Valie ran off to deal with some of the other vampires, Kyrike turned around when he heard a shrill scream. A lanky girl who looked to be about fourteen was struggling to push a vampire off of her. The man pulled her arm closer and bit deeply into her skin. She screamed as he pulled away, a chunk of her flesh in his fangs. Another vampire woman crept up behind her and bit into her neck, the girl wailing as her blood was drained by the leechlike undead.

Kyrike ran forward, shoving his katana through the male vampire's head. The woman released the girl, and she collapsed, weakly crawling away as she whimpered in agony. Kyrike quickly pulled his weapon from the slain vampire and raised it, making a rapid slice through the woman's neck. Her head bounced several feet away from her limp body and landed in the lake with a splash. Kyrike turned back to the severely injured girl, who weakly lifted her arm as if trying to tell him something. Kyrike felt icy fingers on his neck, and he threw his head backwards, stunning the vampire who had hoped to catch him off guard. The man shook the ache out of his head and gave a fierce growl, pushing Kyrike to the ground before he could raise his katana.

Kyrike snarled, using his arms to keep the vampire's face away from his neck. He stared into the man's fangs, red with fresh blood of a recent victim. "Give up, mortal. You are but cattle to us and our Lord, Movarth." "Never! I refuse to die this way, bloodsucking scum!" Kyrike spat back, trying to shove the vampire off him.

A blade ripped through the vampire's forehead, nearly stabbing Kyrike. The vampire's blood sprayed him in the face, and his skull melted under the flames that had suddenly dashed across his head to his body. Kyrike threw the burning vampire off him, the heat of the flames just barely licking at his skin. "Are you gonna just lie there all night, or are you gonna help us?!"

Maclyrniarth kicked another male vampire in the groin, causing him to bend over. Her hand burst into flames, the fire creeping up her pointed dagger. She plunged the dagger into the vampire's head, the blade leaving as quickly as it had entered. The man fell to the ground and his body was swallowed up by the flames in an instant. "Mac, did you follow me here?" Kyrike asked in disbelief as he got off the ground. Mac scoffed. "I got here first, idiot. Why would I be following _you_?" She sarcastically asked, the flames in her hand disappearing.

Kyrike clenched his fists, blushing with anger and embarrassment after having asked such a stupid question. Instead of arguing with the woman who had just saved him from certain death, Kyrike sheathed his katana and looked at the carnage around him. Several people lay dead and dying, others severely wounded, their only glimmer of hope being a healing potion, bandages, and a potion of cure disease. Kyrike looked back at the injured teenager who looked up at him with fear in her eyes. "Don't…leave me…" She gasped, grasping at her neck with her uninjured arm. Kyrike didn't hesitate to walk over to the girl and carefully lift her into his reassuring arms.

Mac watched as Kyrike carried the bleeding girl to her mother and father, a mixture of sadness and softness appearing on her soot-stained face. "Just like Alwiil…"

"Oh, Oriebbi!" The grey-haired woman cried, running to take her daughter from Kyrike's arms as her husband approached them. "Thank you so much for saving our girl. That's the third time this month she's been nabbed. They've never gotten this far, though." The bearded man looked down at his daughter, flesh missing from her arm and blood streaming down her neck. "Will she be alright?" Kyrike asked, concern in his voice.

"Lami's the alchemist here in Morthal. With the increased vampire attacks, she's also had experience patching up people's wounds and making potions of cure disease. The infection is a nasty thing, you know." The man grimly smiled. "Jorgen, I'm going to take Oriebbi back to the hut. Round up the injured and infected and get them there quick, I'm going to need to make a lot of potions tonight." Lami told her husband. She gave Kyrike a smile and a thank you before trotting back to her alchemist hut. Oriebbi looked over her mother's shoulder and gave Kyrike a meaningful look of thanks before she disappeared into the hut.

Several of the extra guardsmen came to collect the bodies of the dead for burials, and Valie approached Kyrike and Mac, who eyed the woman curiously. "It's been a long and rather traumatizing day. I'd like to meet your new friend, Kyrike, but I really need some rest. It's been ten years." Valie yawned, cracking her neck before heading off towards the Moorside Inn. Kyrike followed the exhausted redhead and turned back to Mac as he was halfway up the steps to the inn. "You coming?" He asked. Mac shrugged with a sigh. "Okay."


	15. Firebrand

"Why, exactly, are you in Morthal?" Kyrike asked, slinging a bottle of mead over to Maclyrniarth. "I should ask you the same." She bit back. Kyrike pursed his lips. _Should've seen that coming._

"Alright, I'll go first. I found my friend, Valelia, and we needed a place to rest before heading back to Riften. After we stop at Riften, she told me that she needs my help with her adventures across the land." Kyrike patiently waited for Mac to process what he had just told her and share her reasoning. "I came here to pawn off some of the potions and ingredients I found in one of the nearby crypts, but the vampires are just getting worse and worse in this damn swamp. I was minding my own business by the thaumaturgist's hut when one of those bastards snuck up on me. The rest is history." She explained, uncorking the beverage and downing it in ten seconds.

The brown-eyed woman gave a brief look of acknowledgement towards Kyrike before wiping her mouth clean. "Good thing you did for that kid. Kids don't often make it in this world, though…" She mumbled, looking at the dirt beneath her jagged fingernails. Mac sensed a question building up in Kyrike's mind, and she sighed, frustrated. "I had a brother once. Not much to say." She murmured.

"How were you doing that? The fire, I mean. In the battle against the vampires, your hand caught fire, and the flames spread to your weapon." Kyrike queried curiously.

Mac was almost surprised that he'd taken so long to inquire about her powers. She tugged at the neckline of her tunic ever so slightly, revealing a reddish-orange brand in the shape of an unusually jagged triangle. "I was born with this brand. My parents never knew why, and neither did anyone else. When I was a young whelp, I would sometimes like to read before bed. To accomplish this, I needed a candle. Alas, I didn't know how to make fire, but whenever I even thought of anything to do with flames, my hands would ignite." Mac raised her hands, several tender flames crackling across her fingertips. "So you see, I would push my hands forward, and before I knew it, the candle was lit."

"I've never seen anything like it. Does it have to do with some kind of wizardry?" Kyrike asked. Mac fixed her tunic and shrugged. "There's no way to know for sure. All I know is that the older I got, the more powerful the flames were. Several of my candles were ruined because I'd lost control. Eventually, my parents found out about my 'gift', and they'd send me out hunting. When my kid brother got old enough, he'd go too." Her pale brown eyes sunk for a moment before she looked back up and cleared her throat. "Well, what about you? You got something to tell me?" She crossed her arms, huffing.

Kyrike sighed. He knew there was no softening this woman. "Nothing really special about me. My pa trained me as a kid, and I could wield a steel warhammer before I'd even seen my tenth winter. He told me he'd trained me so carefully in combat to ensure that I wouldn't meet the same fate of my aunt's little girl." "And what happened to her?" "She fell, broke her legs, and was eaten alive by a swarm of ravenous chaurus. My aunt had to put her out of her misery." "And your aunt?" "Drowned in a lake."

The two sat in silence for a while, rendering the inn completely quiet, save for the Orc bard, Lurbuk, who was merrily strumming his lute. "Shut up back there, Orc. A dying spriggan's cries would be preferred to that of your music." Mac yelled, storming back to her room. The Orc merely chuckled and continued playing his instrument, humming along with each sour note he played. Kyrike got up from his seat at the bar and stood back as Mac slammed her door. "Well…goodnight!" Kyrike called, not caring if Mac didn't hear him. "I'll just be going back to my room now."

Kyrike pulled his sheath off his armor, his katana still tucked neatly inside. He set the sheath carefully on the nearby chair so as not to damage his beloved weapon. The auburn man lay in his bed, pulling the covers over his body. He rolled over, listening to Valie's peaceful breathing as she slept in the bed next to his. "Damn lucky I found you alive, Valie." He mumbled, slowly drifting off to sleep.


	16. Planning

"Need some sweetroll for that glaze?" Kyrike asked, eyeing the excessive mountain of frosting covering the meager ration of sweetroll on Valelia's plate. "Quiet, Kyrike. It's been ten damn years since I've had one of these." Valie replied, frosting and sweetroll spurting from her mouth as she spoke. She looked down, realizing that she'd shot her half-chewed food onto her lap and chest. She brushed it off and continued eating. She turned her head when she heard Kyrike grumbling. The auburn man's face was splattered with sweetroll and glaze. "Oh! I…heh, sorry, Kyrike!" Valie chuckled as he wiped his face, licking some of the food off his hands afterwards.

"If you're done flecking me with half-eaten food, I suggest we plan out our course. Once we get to Riften, where are we going to go? Assuming we don't make it to Riften within a day, where will we stop?" Kyrike asked, crossing his arms. "I can probably answer yer first question, not sure about the second as of right now, though. After we head to Riften, I need to meet with my…mentors. If they're still around, that is." Valie grimly replied, staring at her frosting-covered sweetroll. "Your mentors…why do I get the feeling that they're going to disapprove of your prolonged absence?" Kyrike rhetorically asked.

"Because they _are_ going to disapprove. They wanted to train me, to help me master my Thu'um…my shout. Instead of staying with them up on the Throat of the World to train, I went off on a hunt for a dragon burial site in Kynesgrove, hunted more dragons across the entire damned region for eight years, came back to Skyrim to continue business with the Thieves' Guild, then before I knew it, I ended up in Solitude to help a poor, homeless man find his master, and…well, you know the rest." Valelia gulped a breath of air, recovering from her much-needed session of rambling.

"We could head down to the outskirts of Whiterun. An old friend of mine owns a nice little farm there. It's well protected, and he even has some spare rooms we could stay in for a night or two." Their heads whipped around when they heard Mac's voice, the mysterious woman occupying the barstool next to Kyrike. "'We'? You're coming with us?" Kyrike asked, surprised. "Yeah, got a problem, buddy?" Mac spat, her kind demeanor disappearing immediately. "No, no. When we first met, you told me you weren't going to accompany me. I could only assume—" "Assume? You know what they say about assuming, idiot. Are you two clowns gonna take me up on my offer or what? I'm heading down to the farm with or without you, it's your choice."

Kyrike turned to Valelia, who was curiously studying the boisterous woman. "That's Maclyrniarth. Just call her Mac, though." Kyrike told her. Mac gave a hint of a friendly smile that disappeared as quick as it came. "You must be this Valelia Sharp-Sun I've been hearing so much about. Must be nice to reunite with someone you haven't seen in so long, huh?" Mac's eyes softened for a moment before her steely gaze returned. "Are you two gonna make up your minds or what? I haven't got all day here." She snapped.

Valie gave Kyrike a look that seemed to ask "Why is she acting like this?" Kyrike merely shrugged. "Sure, we'll tag along. Thanks, Mac." He gave a grateful nod as he headed back to the room he and Valelia had rented. "Yeah, yeah." She rolled her eyes, darting back to her own room to retrieve her items.

Valie was already ready to head out. The redhead waited by the inn's exit for her companions. Kyrike emerged from the room. He'd slept in his armor as he usually did, and all he needed to do was pack his things. A minute later, Mac met up with the two redheads, dressed in her sapphire-studded silver armor. "Ready to go?" Valelia asked. Kyrike and Mac nodded, following Valie out the door.

The trio walked along the path out of the gloomy town of Morthal in a casual silence. Every once in awhile, Valie would tug uncomfortably on her backpack strap, or Kyrike would brush a tuft of his auburn hair from his eyes.

"WAIT!" A shrill call ripped through the air.

Startled, the three travelers turned around to see a tall, skinny teenage girl running towards them. The girl keeled over when she reached them, panting to regain her composure. She stood up straight and looked up solely at Kyrike, who immediately recognized her. "Sir, you saved my life last night in the attack when you could have easily just left me to die. My…my parents say I should leave Morthal, especially with all the increased vampire attacks. I was hoping…I could join you?" She asked, looking up into Kyrike's emerald eyes.

The frail girl, who Kyrike had decided was most likely fourteen when he met her the previous night, was almost as tall as Valelia, the shortest of the group. The girl had a few bandages on her arm where the flesh was ripped out by the vampire, and a similar bandage was pressed firmly to her neck where the second bite had been pinpointed. Her hair was a chestnut shade, firmly held back in a ponytail. Her skin had a ghost of a tan from the sun, and her eyes were a simple green; not bright like emeralds, but not unappealing like pond scum.

"Look, before you make any quick decisions, I'd like you to know that my mother's trained me to an adept level of mastery in alchemy, and she's even taught me a few stitching tricks. Not to mention, I used to make a few simple gadgets and gizmos back when I was younger, so if you're looking for an engineer or an alchemist, I can be of use." The girl fixed her posture, crossing her arms anxiously as she waited for Kyrike's reply. "Come on. You can join us." Kyrike waved her over, and she excitedly scurried over to join the group. "Even if you didn't have such a refined set of skills, we'd still let you join us. No way are we leaving you as a snack for the vampires." Kyrike's lips curled upwards in a smile, and the girl smiled back. "Now, what did your mother say your name was?" Kyrike asked.

"It's Oriebbi."

"Welcome aboard, Oriebbi."


	17. Friendly Introductions

"The sun's touching the horizon. How much further until we reach the farm?" Kyrike asked, looking up at the bright red sky. Mac growled in frustration. "Do you _ever_ stop complaining?" She snapped, shooting Kyrike a dirty look. Kyrike stopped in his tracks, prompting the rest of the group to stop and look back at him. "Wait, wait, wait. How in the hell was _that_ a complaint?" "Just let it go, Kyr." Valie gave him a warning look, gently putting her hand on his left shoulder. "Say, that wooden building and barn up ahead wouldn't happen to be your friend's farm, would it?" Oriebbi asked, pointing to a spacious wooden building and pale yellow barn by the path to Whiterun. Several cows, goats, and chickens occupied a large, grassy area contained by a fence, and the space adjacent to the animal containment was brimming with wheat, potato plants, cabbages, and even gourds.

"That's it! Good eye, kid. Nice to see someone with some common sense." Mac stole a brief disapproving glance at Kyrike, who was too busy to notice as he stared at the farm. "Wow. That is certainly not what I expected." He mumbled, awestruck. "Complaining?" "Not at all." Kyrike smiled.

The four walked down the path, and Mac gave a few raps on the door. A man in a reddish belted tunic opened the wooden door and stared ahead at Mac. The fellow was tall with broad shoulders, dirty blonde hair that just barely covered his ears, and grey eyes. It seemed as though he wasn't surprised to see her. "It's about damn time you got your ass back over here and paid a visit, Mac!" He grinned, giving her a rough punch on the arm. "Oh, quit your whining, Falmer face. I go where I please." She laughed, returning the punch.

A mousey, brown-haired woman appeared in the doorframe a moment later, her amber eyes lighting up as she squealed with excitement. "Oh, Mac! It's been too long!" She giggled, pulling Mac in for a tight hug. The two women chuckled, pressing gentle kisses to each other's cheeks. Kyrike, Valie, and Oriebbi stood by, watching the exchange between the trio. "I've never seen Mac so…friendly before." Kyrike murmured, confusion overtaking him. "Well, she mentioned that they were old friends, so I'd honestly be surprised if she _wasn't_ friendly with them. They seem like nice enough folks." Valie shrugged, smiling.

"First things first, I want to introduce you to my travel buddies." Mac's pale brown eyes scanned over her companions. "This bright, young lady is Oriebbi." Oriebbi gave a cheery smile and stuck out her hand. "Pleasure to meet you folks. I must say, this is quite the establishment." She grinned, shaking the man's hand before taking the woman's. "This here's Valelia Sharp-Sun." Valie gave a friendly smile and a curt nod. "This knucklehead is Kyrike Cairn-Spring." Kyrike blankly stared at Mac before looking towards the tall fellow. "Please, come in. Stay the night; it's going to be rather cold out." He insisted. Kyrike smiled. "You're too kind, sir. Is there anything we can do to help around the farm?"

The man chuckled. "Not right now, but I'll let you know. You all look pretty tired. Stay as long as you need, it's not a problem." He paused. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm Gregin. This is my wife, Ondina." He put a muscled arm around the smaller woman, who gave a warm smile. "My boy, Thron, is upstairs sleeping. He's had a long day rounding up the chickens to put in the barn, so it'd be much appreciated if you all try not to wake him." Gregin requested. Valelia nodded. "No worries. We'll keep quiet." Gregin smiled. "The spare rooms are up in the first hall on the left staircase. Pick any room you feel like, they're not in use as of right now. Dinner's on the way, so come back down whenever you're ready." Gregin headed back towards the kitchen alongside his wife.

Kyrike picked the third room on the right of the hallway. It was a small, simplistic room, yet it gave a very comforting feeling. The bed was made of softened hay and had a fur comforter. The nightstand was made of oak wood, and there was a chest at the foot of the bed. The sunset poured in through the dusty window.

Kyrike arrived at the dinner table, taking the empty spot in between Oriebbi and Mac. Valelia came down for dinner last, taking the spot next to Ondina. "How are things faring in Whiterun?" Kyrike asked, forking a cutlet of beef into his mouth. "Could be better, could be worse. Jarl Dagny the Daring's been increasing tariffs on crops and supplies, but my gourds seem to be in particularly high demand lately. Thankfully, the winter isn't as harsh as it used to be, and the plants have been growing just fine. This month, I can expect around forty-seven gourds and counting." Gregin proudly smiled.

"That's incredible!" Oriebbi chirped. "Morthal doesn't even have access to luxuries like gourds. The average amount of wheat and bread we're able to produce each month, according to my latest calculations, is about twenty-three and a third of a loaf." Ondina chuckled. "You certainly know your way around a farm, is that right?" "Oh, not really. I used to help mama and papa with alchemy, and when the ingredients come in through shipments, one must keep track of all the various little portions and bottles. It became a habit, and soon enough, I began to notice patterns in Morthal's overall diet."

Everyone talked until the sun was just barely showing over the horizon, the sky turning a light golden hue. Mac stood up and cracked her knuckles, shoulders, and neck. Her eyes scanned over the rest of the room, noting that everyone was still eating. "I'm gonna go out and look at the chickens. It's been awhile since I've seen those little corn-eating, mouse-pecking rascals." Gregin nodded, swallowing his last bit of potato. "After dinner, come join me, idiot." Kyrike sighed indignantly. "My name is Kyrike. _Kyrike._ Ky-rike." The group laughed amongst themselves as Kyrike glared at Mac. "Well, whatever. Kyrike, idiot, not much difference. Anyway, just come join me." She walked towards the door, briefly looking at Kyrike over her shoulder before she left the room.

Somehow, Kyrike didn't believe that Maclyniarth wanted to watch the chickens.


	18. Chickens, Hay, And The Barn

**A/N: Fair warning. Lemon ahead! As of this chapter, the story is now rated M for mature.**

Kyrike cleared his plate and announced that he was going to join Mac in the barn. He left through the front entrance, gently closing the door behind him so as not to disturb Gregin's sleeping son, Thron. His eyesight shifted over to the yellowish barn. He inhaled sharply. Mac was most likely going to tease him or challenge him to some kind of brawl. Kyrike was a strong man and a fierce warrior who could make even the toughest of foes drop their weapon and surrender, but Mac was fast, quick-witted, and agile.

As soon as Kyrike closed the door to the barn, he whipped around, his defenses raised. "I hope you're not planning on jumping out at me with a dagger at the ready, Mac." He called out, his hand resting on his sheathed katana. All he could hear was the soft clucking of several chickens who were aimlessly puttering about the barn. He turned around, startled when Mac leapt from the barn loft and landed five feet away from him. She straightened her back and walked towards him. "I didn't think you'd show." She remarked, shifting her weight to her left leg. "Well, you thought wrong." "I see that." "What's this about, Mac?" Kyrike asked, crossing his arms.

Mac chuckled sardonically. "I thought you might want to look at the chickens with me." She replied, crossing her arms to mimic Kyrike. "Seriously?" Kyrike raised an eyebrow. "Of course not, idiot." "I told you, my name is Kyrike." "What the-well, whatever!" Mac huffed. "Then what did you call me here for?" Kyrike hissed, his patience wearing thin.

Mac stared at Kyrike, a blank look on her face. Kyrike's heavy, frustrated breathing eventually slowed and eased up. "You really don't know?" Mac asked, her voice almost sounding gentle. Kyrike relaxed his tensing muscles and shook his head. Mac sighed and ran a hand through her orangish-blonde hair. "You...did your mother ever teach you-" "My mother died when I was born." "Did your father ever teach you what...two people do for each other-with each other-"

Mac went silent when Kyrike's eyes widened. _Oh, dear. I don't think he's ever...why did I even bother?_ Mac was at least glad that he wasn't entirely oblivious. "Kyrike, have you ever been with a woman before?" She asked. Kyrike felt himself ease up. This was the most patient Mac had ever been with him, and it was the first time she'd even called him by his name. "No." He answered simply. "Never kissed?" "N-No." Kyrike swallowed, embarrassed. He'd killed mighty bandits, slain bears and wolves, but had never achieved something as simple as a kiss, chaste or otherwise.

"Listen. I'm...sorry I asked. I just thought...with the harsh realities of the world nowadays, you could-we could...help each other out. You know...no strings attached." Mac mumbled, defeated. "I'll-I'll just head back inside after I watch the chickens for awhile. We should probably leave for Riften at-" "Wait, I never said I didn't want to." Kyrike spoke up, a brief confident demeanor overtaking his sheepishness. "I-oh, when your eyes widened and your cheeks went red, I could only assume-" "Assume? You know what they say about assuming." Kyrike smirked, throwing Mac's words from earlier that day right back at her. Mac gave a small smile, but it disappeared quickly.

"Listen, I'm s...s..." Mac stumbled over her words before shaking her head and inhaling deeply. "I'm sorry about acting so...well, I'm sorry for acting like a bitch. I've just gone through a lot. Let's leave it at that." Kyrike was beyond curious about what had forced Mac into her sour personality, but he decided not to push his luck and instead nodded in understanding. "Alright. Okay." Mac awkwardly recomposed her posture. "How do we start? Do we just..." "We ease into it. Whatever you're comfortable with, whatever you enjoy, we'll do it." Mac gave a nod of reassurance to Kyrike before stepping closer to him.

Kyrike looked into Mac's eyes which seemed to be growing darker as her pupils dilated. Mac swallowed before gently closing her eyes. She closed the space between her and the auburn warrior by pressing her surprisingly soft lips to his. Kyrike closed his eyes a moment later and began to kiss back, gently throwing an arm around Mac's neck. Mac slowly pulled away a moment later, and the two opened their eyes. "Huh. That was a kiss..." Kyrike mumbled, slightly dazed.

Mac giggled, struggling to contain her laughter. Kyrike's face turned a deep red. "Oh, Gods. I'm sorry. I mean, I've just never-" "Quiet down, idiot. I thought...the way you said that...your innocence was just appealing. The kiss was clumsy, but I thought it was...well, sweet." She giggled again, brushing some of her locks from her face. "Can we do it again?" Kyrike asked, brushing his hand against hers. Mac nodded and leaned in again, this time wrapping her arms around his muscular form, claiming his lips once more. Kyrike gave a low, satisfied chuckle into the kiss, wrapping his left arm around her while he cupped her cheek with his right hand.

They pulled away a moment later, and Mac lowered her hands to her sides. Her fingers unfastened her silver chestplate, and she slipped out of it with ease. She stepped out of her silver cuisse and sabatons, leaving her barefoot with only her light brown and grey tunic to cover her. Kyrike noted that her tunic showed off her unforgettable curves; the curves that her armor had previously concealed. She threw her hair back and began to pluck at several of the strings of her tunic, the garment loosening around her. She let her tunic fall to the ground, revealing her beige breast band.

 _Come on, Kyrike. Make her feel good about herself, maybe pay her a compliment. Yeah, yeah, that's it. Pick a feature. Eyes. Curves. Breasts._

"You have such lovely eyebrows."

 _Dammit!_

Mac giggled again. "Why, thank you. I must say, you have such nice stubble on your chin and upper lip." Kyrike swallowed. "It, uh, didn't scratch you when we kissed, did it?" Kyrike inquired, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "It grazed me, but I find that rather...attractive." She purred, unclasping his long, dark red cape. The cape fell to the ground, and Mac watched as Kyrike began to remove his armor.

When he'd removed all his armor, all that remained were his trousers. "Not to complain or anything, but I can barely see a thing in this barn." He told her. "Should we go in the house and head to one of our rooms?" He asked. Mac shook her head. "Thron is still sleeping. We wouldn't want to wake him with any...overzealous sounds. Besides, you've forgotten about this."

A split second later, a small flame flickered in Mac's right hand. She waved her hand forward, and the flame obediently flew from her palm into a dim torch. The torch lit up, and Kyrike's eyes adjusted to the sudden light change. The chickens seemed to notice too, and several of them flocked over to the other side of the barn. Mac looked over Kyrike's bare chest, gently stroking every defining muscle with her index finger. "What are these three scars?" She asked, trailing her fingers over the scars that rested near his neckline. "Sabre cat attack." Kyrike replied, reaching towards Mac's breast band. He looked up as if to ask permission to remove it, and before he knew it, he'd tugged the breast band over Mac's head, her breasts bouncing as they sprang free from their cottony captor.

Kyrike licked his lips, a thrilling feeling building up inside his abdomen. His heart sped up as he reached out to gently cup Mac's left breast in his hands. "It's alright, don't be shy. They're not going to fall off, you know." Mac reassured, taking one of his hands and placing it on her right breast. Kyrike ran his hands over them, tracing each areola with great care. He memorized every satisfyingly smooth area on her breasts before gently kneading on the deliciously round mounds of flesh. "W-woah..." Mac murmured, grasping his muscular arms. Kyrike stopped and looked to her for an explanation. "No, no...it felt good, Kyrike." "That so?" "Indeed."

Kyrike stopped when he felt an odd sensation burning in his loins. He felt his trousers grow tighter and his manhood fill with blood. Mac could see Kyrike's erection rising up in his pants, so she took his hands off her breasts and helped him out of his trousers. He stood once again, his member throbbing with need as he stared ahead at Mac's round, beautiful breasts. "Someone's excited." Mac smirked, reaching down to run her hands over Kyrike's girth.

Kyrike swallowed anxiously. He'd never been this hard before. The only other times he'd gotten an erection were when he'd woken up in the morning. It was certainly awkward to explain himself to Caehir and Evada that one particular morning after they'd caught sight of his...

 _No, Kyrike! Now is NOT the time to dredge up that memory! Look at Mac, look at Mac..._

Kyrike suddenly groaned, his eyes snapping shut. He shuddered and opened his eyes, looking down. Mac trailed her tongue over every inch of his manhood, kissing and suckling it. "W...wow!" Kyrike managed, grasping Mac's hair. Mac giggled, Kyrike's member still in her mouth, which caused the auburn man to shudder a bit more. Kyrike gently moved his hips forward in an experimental thrust. Mac sucked harder in response. "Gods, Mac. How do you even know how to..." Kyrike gasped, the coiling sensation in his abdomen intensifying.

Mac released him and gave him a seductive smile. "I have my ways." She whispered, walking over to the pile of hay nearest to them. She lay down on the hay, Kyrike following her. "Ow! Damn, the hay's pricking at my skin." Kyrike winced. Mac rolled her eyes. "Maybe I should've asked Valelia. At least _she'd_ have a bit more tolerance." She teased. "Wait, wait, it's not that big a deal! I've fought bandits and beasts, I'm not backing down from a roll in the hay." Kyrike indignantly frowned. "Then come get me."

That was all Kyrike needed. He pounced on Mac, passionately kissing her lips. He trailed his mouth down to her breasts, kissing and licking each areole. "Damn it, Kyrike! I'm losing my bloody patience over here." Mac whimpered. "Right, right. Sorry." Kyrike scratched the back of his neck and grasped himself in his hands. He positioned his member at Mac's entrance, pushing into her warmth.

Kyrike didn't even know what to say at first. His father had pulled him aside one day after seeing Kyrike's sheets covered with semen, thanks to a particularly interesting dream. Ysgrig had told his son all about the wonders of lovemaking. Kyrike thought it was strange and perverse, but now as his member was gripped by Mac's tight walls, he realized how wrong he had been.

Kyrike stayed in the same position for awhile until Mac cleared her throat. "You can...y'know...move, Kyrike. That's what's supposed to happen." Without a word, Kyrike gave another experimental thrust. Mac gave a quiet moan. Kyrike immediately decided that he liked this gentle, submissive side of Mac. He liked the alluringly breathy moan his thrust had caused, and wanted to hear more. With all the strength he could muster, he slammed himself into her. Mac grasped his shoulders, moaning louder this time. "Nine Divines and holy grail, keep going!" Mac cried out, moving her hands down to his back.

Kyrike found himself thrusting faster and harder, Mac's warmth clenching around his manhood. It had almost gotten to the point where her tightness forced him out of her. They scrambled closer together to ensure that this mistake wouldn't happen.

Suddenly, Kyrike felt an unusual presence on his back. He stopped thrusting for a moment and craned his neck. A little chicken with black-speckled feathers stood on his back, curiously tilting its head as if to ask what was going on. "Why'd you stop?" Mac gasped, bucking her hips in place of his thrusts. "There's a chicken on my back." Kyrike mumbled. "Then get it off. Go, shoo! Shoo!" Mac brushed the chicken off his back. The little bird squawked in disapproval and rejoined its friends on the other side of the barn.

Kyrike resumed thrusting, Mac continuing to rock her hips with his. "O-oh, woah...wo-o-oah...Kyrike, I don't think I can hold back anymore." Mac closed her eyes, streams of moans and gasps flooding from her lips. "Aaa-AAAAAAH!"

Kyrike soon felt Mac's walls gripping him tighter than before and spasming around his member. He felt the spring of excitement in his body come loose, and his girth began to throb. Kyrike's breaths grew heavier as he gave his final thrusts, and he gave a guttural groan as he reached his peak. Mac quickly pulled his member out of her, and his seed spilt onto the haystack.

Kyrike collapsed on the pile of hay next to Mac, wincing again when he felt thousands of tiny hay needles pricking at his skin. "Well...that was..." Kyrike mumbled, sleepiness overtaking him.

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me just yet! We still have to get redressed and head back to the house. The others might get suspicious if we stay out here any longer." Mac ordered, wiping sweat from her forehead as she stood up. She shook away some of the stray hay needles that had made their homes on her back and reached for her clothes.

Kyrike watched as she redressed herself and stared carelessly at several chickens who were approaching them. He picked one of the feathery birds up and gently rubbed its neck. "These chickens got quite a show, didn't they?" Kyrike asked.

Mac couldn't contain her laughter.


	19. Kidnapped

The sun rose particularly early that morning. Kyrike arrived at the breakfast table, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He sat in the chair between Gregin and Oriebbi. Ondina came around the table, placing plates of buttered bread and baked potatoes before each person. Oriebbi was analyzing the bread, showering Gregin and Ondina with praise for growing such remarkably healthy wheat farms. Thron, as it had turned out, was tall with a muscular build, his light brown eyes the same shade as his long, flowing hair. He looked to be a year or two older than Oriebbi, and despite being strong and well-built, he was shy and soft-spoken with a slight mumble to his voice.

"Varos found his way back after we got separated in the vampire attack in Morthal. He's waiting at the post near the windmill. I hope ye don't mind, but I gave him some carrots earlier." Valie told Kyrike as he dug into his breakfast. "Not at all. I'm relived he made it back safe, but I'm not surprised he did, if that makes sense." Valie nodded and sunk her teeth into what remained of her buttered bread.

Breakfast went by quickly, and before he knew it, Kyrike was shaking hands with Gregin, thanking him and his family for their hospitality. Mac shoved Kyrike aside and pulled Gregin, Ondina, and Thron in for a hug, assuring them that she'd return soon.

Varos waited patiently by the windmill, watching as the group approached him. Kyrike smiled and gave his furry friend a hug, nuzzling his neck affectionately. "I missed you, Varos. Good to have you back." He laughed, stroking his neck. He stepped away from the horse a moment later. "Alright, who wants to ride Varos? He can hold two people at once." Oriebbi immediately took her opportunity and mounted Varos. "One spot left, better take it while you can." Kyrike's eyes swept over Mac and Valie. Mac gently pushed Valie forward. "Better let the milkdrinkers on the horse. They might get tired otherwise." She smirked.

"Hey, I am most certainly not a milkdrinker!" Valie protested, though she soon mounted the horse, and the group set out for Riften. "Relax, Valie. There's nothing wrong with being a milkdrinker. _I'm_ a milkdrinker." Oriebbi proudly announced, bringing chuckles and snorts from Kyrike and Mac. "That isn't very reassuring, Oriebbi." Valie sighed. "Well, milk, according to careful research and studies, mind you, has been proven to strengthen teeth and bones. Mead and other alcoholic beverages have been proven to slow thought processes, damage the brain, and even cause poisoning. While we're on the subject, did you know that nirnroot and void salts combined with deathbell will create a poison with attributes that could easily…" The group idly listened as they walked, Oriebbi's knowledge both impressing and inspiring them.

About an hour later, an arrow landed in the metal of Valie's shield, startling the group. Despite his brief panic, Varos stood his ground and refrained from throwing Valie and Oriebbi off his back. "Oriebbi, stay on the horse. Mac, Valie, stand your ground and get ready to fight." Kyrike ordered, and his fellow warriors nodded, readying their weapons as the sound of angry shouting echoed in the proximity.

Ysgrig darted out of the nearby underbrush, shaking off the twigs and leaves that had knotted in his auburn hair.

"Pa!"

"Son!"

"Ysgrig!"

"Bandits are coming!" Ysgrig shouted, unsheathing his mace and sword. "We noticed, moron!" Mac growled, looking over at the arrow protruding from Valie's shield. "How many?" Kyrike asked his father, who was still catching his breath. "A dozen or so...I was…I was just hunting some elk when these guys jumped out of nowhere and chased all the game away, and then they turned on me." He wiped some sweat from his brow with his elbow and looked up at Oriebbi, who nervously looked over at the underbrush.

"Kid, you need to get out of here. If Kyrike's letting you ride his horse, that means he trusts you, and if he trusts you, so do I. Ride Varos through the woods and keep the sun to the right of you. You'll find a rustic, stony fortress in a small clearing hugging a mountainside. Go inside and tell the Argonian fellow, Reea'th, that Ysgrig needs his help." Ysgrig ordered the girl. "Yes, sir!" In the blink of an eye, Oriebbi and Varos took off, Varos knowing the exact route to the Home.

The shouts grew louder, and adrenaline rushed through the four Nord's veins. Mac tucked her dagger away, keeping her crooked dwarven axe out. Instead, a small, orange flame appeared in her left hand. "Get ready." Kyrike whispered.

Three bandits burst through the underbrush, and the remaining nine followed. Mac let out a fierce cry, whips of flames leaping from her hand. Two bandits were immediately caught in the flames, yelling in agony as their flesh melted before their eyes. Kyrike steadied himself as one of the marauders approached him, and just as the man raised his sword and lunged forward, Kyrike swiftly pivoted left, and the bandit staggered when he missed his target completely. Without even turning his head to face the bandit, Kyrike slammed his katana into the man's neck, blood spurting out like a fountain.

Kyrike looked over at his dad, who had shattered a bandit's ribcage with his mace and impaled another on his sword. He then looked over at where Valelia was, only to see her being hoisted up by three of the bandits. "Bastards!" Kyrike shouted, charging towards the men who had knocked Valie unconscious.

He suddenly felt his body collapse, his face an inch away from the ground. He felt rough hands on the back of his neck, the air he breathed failing to reach his lungs. He coughed and gasped, his lungs screaming for air. The grip on his neck grew tighter and tighter until all he could feel was a warm, familiar substance coating his skin. He got off the ground, Ysgrig pulling him in for a hug. Kyrike looked at the bandit who had strangled him, his head missing from his shoulders. Mac lopped another marauder's head clean off with her crooked axe, and sliced directly into another's heart.

"Mercy!" The clink of a weapon dropping to the ground accompanied the cry. The trio turned to see the last surviving bandit shuddering and sobbing. Mac frowned and walked over to the bandit. She tucked her axe in its sheath and pressed her hands together. When they separated, a bright, blue flame burned fiercely in her palms. She pressed her palms into the bandit's chest, and before Kyrike and Ysgrig knew what happened, an explosion rang out, the birds on the nearby tries flying away in fright. All around the spot where the bandit had been standing, there were only rings of blood in the shape of an explosion. The body had been completely destroyed, and all that remained was the evident explosion. "I had her, dad. Then, like they always do, the bandits interfered." Kyrike mumbled to his father.

 **A/N: Yep, I'm still doing the chapter previews! If you've read my previous fic,** _ **Where The Cold Awaits,**_ **you remember the chapter previews that happen just before chapter 20, 40, 60, 80, and 100. I'm going to continue that tradition in this story. Enjoy!**

"That Mac girl doesn't strike me as the type to help others out just from the goodness of her heart. I honestly wonder why you're even friends with her." Ysgrig whispered to his son, eyeing the mysterious woman. Kyrike frowned. "I wouldn't exactly call us 'friends', but she hasn't put her dagger up against my throat, so I'd say she and I are on relatively good terms."

"Shut up, Kyrike! Gods, I'm getting so sick of your damn attitude!" Mac shouted, her eyes ablaze with anger. "Then why the hell do you stick around? I'm just an idiot to you, remember?" Kyrike narrowed his emerald eyes. "You know what? I don't know why I'm even following you around. Quite honestly, I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, _I hate you!_ " Kyrike parted his lips before speaking again, knowing he was going to regret what he was about to say next. "That sure wasn't what you were screaming underneath me in the barn the last night."

"That looks like it'd be a bandit's hideout. It's a big, nasty-looking fortress, and the man up there doesn't look very friendly." Kyrike noted, looking up at the man with the scruffy beard atop the tower of the fortress. "We'd better hope we find Valie alive. If she dies, the dragons will kill us all."

Valelia panicked, struggling to pull her arm away from the angry marauder. "I'm sick of you people, trying to 'restore justice to Skyrim'. No one survives out here anymore by being honest and legitimate. Those people are dead, and they aren't coming back." He spat in the woman's face. She wiped her face with her free arm, all the while trying to free the arm that was being grasped in the marauder's hand. "They won't come back if you keep killing us!" She retorted. "Don't talk back to me, you little bitch!" He snarled, pulling a dwarven sword from its sheath. The rapping on the door quickened at the sound of a weapon being unsheathed. **"You're going to pay the ultimate price. I'll make sure you learn your lesson; to never mess with me or my boys again!"**


	20. Disarmed

"We don't have any time to dawdle. They went this way, come on!" Mac gestured, immediately running past Kyrike and Ysgrig, who were soon in hot pursuit. "What about Reea'th? Do you think he's going to know where to look for us?" Kyrike asked his father. "Reea'th is a good hunter, son. He'll find us."

The moment the words left Ysgrig's mouth, Mac stopped and wiped the sweat from her brow before running a hand through her hair. "I lost the tracks. No idea where to look now." She sighed in evident frustration. "Dammit, dammit. Well, she's dead. No use finding her now." Mac began to walk away before Kyrike stepped in, glaring daggers at the woman. "You don't know that. Valie is stronger than you might know, and she's more important than you might think. We can't just abandon her, especially if we have no evidence that the bandits killed her." Mac frowned; she knew Kyrike was right, and hated to admit it, so she instead sulked off towards a lone tree to lean against and collect her thoughts. Ysgrig leaned closer to his son.

"That Mac girl doesn't strike me as the type to help others out just from the goodness of her heart. I honestly wonder why you're even friends with her." Ysgrig whispered to his son, eyeing the mysterious woman. Kyrike frowned. "I wouldn't exactly call us 'friends', but she hasn't put her dagger up against my throat, so I'd say she and I are on relatively good terms."

"Alright…so if we're going to find your friend, where do you think we should look? Got any bright ideas, idiot? How about you, moron?" Mac asked, approaching the two men. Kyrike and Ysgrig exchanged glances before the older man spoke up. "There are usually camps and fortresses out in the forests of Riften, and they're more often than not occupied by highwaymen and skulking-criminals. We should scout out the area, and if we happen to come across anything, we should immediately investigate." Ysgrig suggested.

Much to their surprise, Mac nodded. "Since you people are so insistent on finding the little damsel in distress, I say we should start looking right away." Mac mockingly added. "I told you once, I'll tell you once more; Valie is a strong woman, and while she's in the hands of the bandits, there's more at stake here than just _her_ life." Kyrike snapped, crossing his arms. Mac looked ready to explode.

"Shut up, Kyrike! Gods, I'm getting so sick of your damn attitude!" Mac shouted, her eyes ablaze with anger. "Then why the hell do you stick around? I'm just an idiot to you, remember?" Kyrike narrowed his emerald eyes. "You know what? I don't know why I'm even following you around. Quite honestly, I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, _I hate you!_ " Kyrike parted his lips before speaking again, knowing he was going to regret what he was about to say next. "That sure wasn't what you were screaming underneath me in the barn the last night."

 _KWAP!_

Kyrike felt his hand involuntarily rise to rub his stinging cheek. Mac retracted her hand, the anger remaining in her eyes. "That was a one time occurrence, especially now that you just said _that_." She huffed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to calm herself down, her cheeks flushed with rage. Ysgrig stood back with his arms crossed, a hint of an amused smile gracing his lips. "Let's just go already. Gods, you people are insufferable!" She growled, storming ahead of the two men.

The trio remained silent for the rest of their scouting session, and Mac kept a brisk pace ahead of the two auburn men. An hour later, Ysgrig and Kyrike were making idle chatter when Mac suddenly stopped and pushed the two to the ground behind some unkempt bushes. They looked to her for an explanation, and Mac placed a finger over her lips to shush them. She turned her head and fixed her gaze on the structure before them. Kyrike's eyes swept over the large, stony building before them, and he ever-so-slightly parted his lips to speak in a whisper.

"That looks like it'd be a bandit's hideout. It's a big, nasty-looking fortress, and the man up there doesn't look very friendly." Kyrike noted, looking up at the man with the scruffy beard atop the tower of the fortress. "We'd better hope we find Valie alive. If she dies, the dragons will kill us all."

"What the hell does that mean?" Mac asked, tilting her head in curiosity as her brows furrowed. Kyrike looked to his father as if to ask permission for what he was about to say next, and Ysgrig thought for a moment before he nodded in approval. "There's no reason to conceal it any longer. You've proven trustworthy, and even though we have…differences, you deserve to know that Valie is…she's the Dragonborn."

Mac opened her mouth, but no sound came. She tried again, only for the same result. She shook her head and inhaled, exhaling calmly. "Well, I have to admit, that did explain a lot." She began, some of the confusion in her head clearing up. She gave a mischievous grin. "Well, I call you idiot and I call your dad moron, I think Valie deserves a special name of her own." Kyrike sighed and rubbed his temples in frustration as Mac's grin grew wider. "Scaly! Ha! That's a good one! It even rhymes with her name!" Mac giggled. Kyrike rolled his eyes, thinking back to all the times Sheogorath called her Scaly-Valie.

"In any case, we'd best kept quiet. I'll scale the tower and take Beardo out. I'll meet up with you guys, don't worry." Mac looked up at the small guard post at the top of the fortress where the bearded guard sat. She quietly removed her crooked dwarven axe from its sheath and broke into a sprint. She jumped at the last second and latched the crook of the axe into the ridges between the stonework of the tower. The noise from Mac's weapon attracted the guard's attention, and he bolted upright from his post and nocked an arrow in his bow, carefully aiming it at Mac, who obliviously continued to scale the wall.

"Mac, look out!" Kyrike shouted. Mac looked up to see the arrow flying towards her. She gasped and swiftly swung rightward to evade the arrow. The guard growled in frustration and nocked another arrow, only to give a cry of agony when his eyes were blinded by a whip of fire. The guard collapsed, and Mac picked up the pace in her climbing, and when she reached the top of the tower, she looked back down at Kyrike and Ysgrig, giving a look of appreciation to Kyrike as she parted her lips to speak.

"I'll meet you. Be safe." She gave a nod of approval before looking down at the bandit who lay on the ground, still suffering from the burns he received. Kyrike couldn't see the bandit due to the extrusion of the wall of the tower, but he did see Mac bring her axe down to strike him, and the resulting explosion of blood that speckled Mac and her weapon.

Kyrike and Ysgrig charged into the fortress, taking several bandits by surprise. After a seven-minute long battle, all that remained of the bandits were bloodied, battered corpses. "Someone's out there. Take the prize to the office, the boss'll have us all killed if we let this one slip away!" A gravelly voice ordered. Several rapid footsteps and muffled shouts of protest echoed in the halls, and the sounds of weapons being unsheathed quickly rang out.

"Dad, stand back." Kyrike commanded, gripping his katana tighter. Ysgrig backed away from the stairs, and three bandits came running down in a line with their weapons at the ready. Kyrike stuck his katana out, impaling the trio of troublemakers. The bandit in the middle didn't die on impact, and instead writhed as he watched his blood spurt from the gaping wound. Kyrike yanked his sword back, and the three bandits fell to the ground, the middle one immediately dying from blood loss. Ysgrig gave a nod of approval. "Clever. It was pretty disturbing, but that was a clever trick."

"YOU LET HER OUT OF THERE NOW, SCUM! I SWEAR, I'LL SHOVE MY DAGGER STRAIGHT UP YOUR ASS!" Mac yelled. Ysgrig and Kyrike exchanged horrified glances and ran up the stairs when they heard rough pounding on a door. Six bandits lay dead on the ground, various body parts strewn about the room in puddles of fresh blood. Mac slammed her body against the door like a madwoman, and Kyrike quickly rushed over to hold her back. "Stop. STOP! We need to make them feel like we're not a threat, and we need to keep the noise down so we can hear if this guy wants to negotiate." Kyrike hissed in her ear.

"He can negotiate with my blades! You won't get away with this, lawless bastard!" Mac growled. "Get back here, you little s'wit!" The bandit leader shouted from behind the door. Several clangs of pots and pans hitting the floor rang out in the room, and the sounds of struggle stopped. Ysgrig and Kyrike swallowed hard, fearing the worst. "Dad, did aunt Sarila ever teach you how to pick a lock?" He grimly asked. Ysgrig shook his head. "Mac, can you burn this door?" Mac shook her head. "This type of wood is resistant to fire. No way to burn it." Kyrike's lips quivered, and he began to rap on the door.

Valelia panicked, struggling to pull her arm away from the angry marauder. "I'm sick of you people, trying to 'restore justice to Skyrim'. No one survives out here anymore by being honest and legitimate. Those people are dead, and they aren't coming back." He spat in the woman's face. She wiped her face with her free arm, all the while trying to free the arm that was being grasped in the marauder's hand. "They won't come back if you keep killing us!" She retorted. "Don't talk back to me, you little bitch!" He snarled, pulling a dwarven sword from its sheath. The rapping on the door quickened at the sound of a weapon being unsheathed. "You're going to pay the ultimate price. I'll make sure you learn your lesson; to never mess with me or my boys again!"

 _CHNK!_

"AAAAAAAARRRRGGHHH!"

At the sound of Valie's screams, Mac began to smash into the wood of the door with her dwarven axe with all the force she could muster, chips of wood flying from the door.

 _SPLURCH._

"HNNNNNNNNNGGG-AAAAIIIIIIEEEE!"

Mac kicked the door open enough wood was removed, and the trio burst into the room. Mac charged forward and sliced the bandit leader's head off in one swift chop, his weapon hitting the table that Valie was pressed against.

Only then did they shift their attention to Valie.

Only then did they discover that her left arm was halfway removed.

"VALELIA!" Ysgrig yelled, horror in his voice. "We need to fix her arm!" Kyrike shouted, panic slowly working its way into his mind. "Kyrike, you idiot! Look at it!" Mac gestured to Valie's arm. Blood was shooting out of the wound, the bone partially cut through. "There's no salvaging that! We need to cut the rest of it off!"

Before anyone knew what was happening, Valie had picked up the dwarven sword with her right hand. She dizzily sturdied her arm before lining it up with the wound, sweat, tears, and blood streaming down her face.

CHK. CHK. CHK. CHK. CHK. SHUKK!

Valie's severed arm lay on the table, blood pouring from the stump where her arm used to be. Valie whimpered and wailed, holding her right hand to her mouth to prevent herself from vomiting. "Kyrike, your cape!" Ysgrig shouted. Kyrike removed his cape and wrapped it around Valie's stump, the blood staining the already red fabric. Mac, Kyrike, and Ysgrig were all appalled and horrified at what they had just witnessed, and they knew they needed to get Valelia back to the Home before she bled to death.

"Valie, can you hear me?" Ysgrig stood over Valie, who lay on the ground, whimpering in agony. She weakly nodded, tears glistening in her ice blue eyes. "Can you stand?" She shook her head, slowly closing her eyes. "We're losing her. We need to go, now!"

Valie snapped awake, her eyelids starting to droop as soon as she woke. She could feel her body being lifted.

The next time she awoke, she was staring up at the crimson sky, several black clouds drifting off in the distance.

The next time, she heard the familiar voice of Reea'th, though she could hear evident panic in his voice.

Kyrike had seen Valie wake up each time. When she didn't awake when they reached the Home, he could only assume the worst.


	21. History Repeats Itself

"Valie? Valelia? Hey, are you alright?"

"Huh?! What? What's going on?" Valie snapped back to reality, her legs involuntarily walking through the plains of what lay between Whiterun and Eastmarch. "Hey, relax!" Sarila laughed, Valie's head craning towards the golden-haired woman, a look of disbelief crossing her face. "You just seemed to be in a bit of a daydream is all. Tell me, was it about Brynjolf?" She mischievously grinned.

Valie blinked. She looked down at her fully-present left arm. _Is this a dream?_

"Err…well, I suppose so." Valie scratched the back of her neck. Sarila giggled. "It's alright. I sometimes catch myself thinking about Marcurio, too. I…I honestly don't know when, or why, but…I just started feeling an undeniable attraction to him. Do you…do you think he would ever return the feelings?" Sarila shyly asked, a hopeful blush painting her cheeks, the scar on her right cheek more visible than ever.

Valelia gave a half-hearted laugh. "I'm sure you'll find out someday, Sarila. The lad always did have a certain glow about him in yer presence." She replied. Sarila exhaled in relief. "Sometimes I swear Lyvette can sense something we don't. Just yesterday, she woke up from a nightmare about Snow Veil Sanctum. She was going on and on about three people being chased by a few undead until one of them got shot with an arrow. It didn't make much sense, but it's really not helping my nerves, especially since we're heading there right now." She shuddered.

Valelia nodded, remembering exactly where they were and what they were doing. It was still in the later months of 4E, 201, most likely Hearthfire. She and Sarila were heading to Snow Veil Sanctum to capture Karliah.

A sudden realization overcame Valie. She knew _exactly_ what was going to happen. She'd experienced it all. The arrow, the trap Mercer had led them to, the whole process of capturing Mercer and rescuing Sarila.

 _I know everything else, too…I know who lives, who dies, who wins which battles in the Civil War…I can prevent everyone from dying…_

 _Kharjo. Qattindra. Mattha._ _Chalvia. Marcurio. Lyvette._

 _…Sarila._

"Valie. I need to tell you something important." Sarila began, excitement shaking her voice. "I'm all ears." Valie replied. "Last night, we found out that Chalvia is pregnant! Ysgrig is the father. I'm going to be an aunt!" She squealed, failing to contain her excitement. Valie grinned, feigning surprise. "That's wonderful, Sarila! I'm so happy for ye!" She merrily laughed. "What do you think it'll be? Boy? Girl? Twins?" She smiled, thoughts of a gurgling baby warming her heart.

"Something tells me it'll be a boy, Sarila. A big, strong, brave lad with a heart of gold." Valie proudly told her, thinking of the brave and true Kyrike Cairn-Spring. "I'm still not entirely sure what I think it'll be. Whatever the baby turns out to be, I'm thankful for. I'm thankful for whatever the Gods will give Ysgrig and Chalvia."

 _This could be my second chance. My chance to save everyone, my chance to redo everything…my chance to end Alduin once and for all…the right way, this time. I know they say history repeats itself, but I've got to do my best to make sure that won't happen…at least, I won't let it happen this time. I can start with subtly convincing Sarila that Karliah is our friend and Mercer is the true traitor…but how?_

"What do you think of Mercer?" Valie asked. Sarila shuddered. "Scary. I don't like him, but he's the boss." She dejectedly answered. "I don't trust him. I feel like he'd kill one of his own people and frame another guild member if it meant personal gain for him." Valie hinted. Sarila nodded, a slight quirk in her eyebrows noticeable for a split second before it disappeared again.

"In truth, I don't feel comfortable around Mercer. He's a wretched man, but a fearsome warrior. So fearsome, in fact, that the undead could easily be put to rest for good with him by our side." Sarila admitted. "I'm not exactly the best at fighting, in case you haven't noticed." She sheepishly added, twirling a strand of her golden locks around her finger. "It comes with experience. Yer innocent, and yer gonna want to keep that innocence for as long as ye can."

"Would you rather go your entire life without killing anyone and remain as a simple farmer, or would you rather go on adventures but have to do and see atrocities unfit for eyes to look upon?" Sarila asked. Valie blinked. "That's a rather specific question, Sarila." She scratched her head for a moment as she thought. "If I'm being completely honest, I'd rather have a life as a simple farmer. It's the way things used to be back in Cyrodiil before…" She stopped herself. Though she'd told Sarila her story the first time around, she felt unusually repulsed by sharing it again. "Well, it doesn't matter. I don't really have much choice. I'm the Dragonborn; I have to put an end to the Dragon Crisis, and I'm going to have to smash some skulls in the process."

"I'm not sure what I would choose. Maybe somewhere in between. I'd rather go on adventures without killing anyone. I'm not overly adventurous, though, so it would probably be something small like walking across thin ice of a frozen lake." Sarila explained. Valie cringed. _The last icy lake she visited was the one she died in._

Valie couldn't help but want to dissuade her. "Why not smaller than that? Why not—"

 _Bandages…_

 _I need…_

Valie jumped. She'd heard voices and seen lights flashing before her. "What happened? What was that? Sarila, did ye notice anything?"

 _Blood loss…_

 _She may not survive the…_

"There it was again! There! Did ye see it?! Did ye hear it?!" Valie frantically asked. Sarila worriedly looked into Valie's eyes. "Are you feeling ill? I…I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're referring to." Valie put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes as she walked before opening them again. "I'm sorry. I just had some kind of…vision. With voices."

 _Sa'etha…_

 _Hurry…_

"We should get a move on. Mercer will have a fit if we're late." Valie encouraged, walking a bit faster alongside Sarila.


	22. The Inner Chambers

Valie's illusion of walking to Snow Veil Sanctum alongside Sarila vanished in a dark shroud. She had blinked, and in that single moment where she opened her eyes again, she was inside the inner chamber of Snow Veil Sanctum. Her armor and weapon were coated with blackish-red blood, presumably from the draugr she had encountered alongside Sarila and Mercer. She didn't have much time to prepare herself, and when she heard the sound of an arrow being nocked in Karliah's bow, she immediately looked to Sarila, who was in its path.

Her breaths quickened, and her ice-blue eyes darted around the chamber until they rested upon Mercer Frey. She lunged forward and shoved Mercer Frey directly in front of Sarila just as the arrow left Karliah's bow, the _twang_ of the drawstring echoing in the proximity. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Mercer snarled. He cried out a moment later when the arrow embedded itself in his sternum.

"Valie!" Sarila gasped. "Why did…why did you do that?!" She asked, her jaw agape, looking down at Mercer, who had taken the arrow before it had reached her. "Mercer is the culprit." Valie whispered, a look that pleaded for Sarila's trust appearing on her face.

"How…how did you know?" A rich, soothing voice asked. The two women turned to see Karliah, who cautiously approached them. "He's got the key…the skeleton key. When Gallus was about to expose him for what he truly was, Mercer killed him here and left his body to rot in the snow."

Valie felt the cold steel of a dagger up against her throat. "How do you know what the skeleton key is? You'd better explain yourself, else you'll make me wish I shot you instead." Karliah hissed. "No! Please, don't kill her!" Sarila pleaded, her breaths quickening. "It's alright, lass. Keep calm." Valie sternly instructed, and her friend hesitantly nodded.

"I understand you have a journal in your possession that belongs to the late Guildmaster, Gallus Desidenius. It's encoded in the Falmer language, hence, you cannot comprehend it. I, however, have the solution." Karliah sheathed her dagger and watched intently as Valie rooted around in her backpack. Valie was silently praying to the Nine that she had the rubbing of the Falmer language in her backpack, and miraculously, she did. Her backpack had, more or less, retained the contents she had collected before she had mysteriously warped back in time.

"Where did you get this?" Karliah asked, poring over the rubbing. "I retrieved it from the wizard, Calcelmo, in Markarth. It seems as though he's been doing a bit of independent studying." Valie remarked. Karliah reached into her satchel and pulled out the journal of her beloved. She opened to the first page and held the rubbing to it, Valie and Sarila looking over her shoulder as she translated the text.

 _Mercer Frey continues to elude my every step. I think he's aware I'm following him, and appears to be taking no unnecessary chances. I'm bringing all of my skills to the forefront in order to deceive him. It still pains me that the deception is necessary. When I became a Nightingale, using my new found talents against my own was the furthest thought from my mind._

 _There was a close call today. I was settling down for a night's rest in the cistern when Mercer Frey entered unexpectedly. He was creeping along the wall, but I spotted him immediately. He edged closer to the vault door, making his way carefully around the perimeter of the room, but suddenly stopped and turned towards my hiding place. I froze instantly, even holding my breath for a moment, but my position was already compromised. He abruptly turned and walked back towards the Flagon. What was he doing?_

 _At last I have evidence that might explain Mercer Frey's actions. Instead of trying to follow him or break into his manor, I used every loose-tongued source at my disposal to scour the Ratway looking for answers. It took several weeks, but Maul was able to provide an interesting bit of information. Mercer had been spending inordinately large sums of coin on all manner of things unrelated to the guild. How he was able to afford this was a mystery to me. The vault was impregnable, so what was the source of his coin?_

 _It's been confirmed by my sources - Mercer's been living an unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures. I have more than my share of evidence to confront him now. He must be stealing from the guild, but without proof all I have is baseless accusation. Mercer came from wealthy stock, but the amount of coin he's been spending is immense._

 _I've been giving it some serious thought. There's only a single way that Mercer could have access to vast amounts of coin. I hesitate to even believe it's possible. How could he possibly desecrate the Twilight Sepulcher? This goes far beyond mere greed and transcends common theft. His actions could represent the failure of the Nightingales, something that hasn't occurred in hundreds of years. Why? Why would he readily throw away everything he believes in? All I need is proof._

 _Mercer Frey has requested I meet him at Snow Veil Sanctum today. He sent a note by courier, so I can only assume he's already there. All of my sense tell me that it's a trap, but I have no choice. His message indicated the meet was of the utmost urgency and involved guild business, so I'm obligated to go. I can't risk bringing anyone else with me, but I'm almost certain Karliah will disobey and follow._

"Shadows preserve us…" Karliah breathed, closing her eyes to prevent any tears from spilling out. Sarila's lip quivered in fear, anger, and hatred towards Mercer. The man in question lay writhing on the ground, mumbling obscenities as he drifted out of consciousness. "Bastard." Sarila spat, clenching her fists. "You brought us all the way out here to kill an innocent woman, while you _knew_ you were the true culprit." She continued, rage bubbling up inside her. "I almost died because of your selfishness."

Mercer had no response. He lay on the cold, stony ground, his only warmth being the blood that seeped out of his wound. "It almost feels unreal. All these years I've been trying to capture him, and…now, with your help, I can finally prove my innocence to the guild." Karliah wiped a tear from her eye. "If only Gallus were still here."

 _Oriebbi, get the…_

 _Some blisterwort extract is needed for…_

 _We have a pulse…_

Valie pushed the voices out of her head and nodded, sympathetic towards Karliah. "We'd better get him back. Sarila, do ye have anything we could use to bind his hands?" The auburn woman asked. Sarila nodded numbly, looking back down at Mercer with distaste. "We should rent a carriage from Windhelm. The bastard killed your horse, Karliah." Sarila informed the Dunmer, who sighed in frustration. "I should have guessed he would have. That's not the only thing of mine he's killed." She sourly replied, thinking of the love that died when Gallus did.

"We should be back at Riften by tomorrow. Until then, we'll have to keep a close eye on Mercer to make sure he doesn't escape, and make sure his condition doesn't worsen, because we need him alive in order for this to work." Karliah informed the two women, who nodded in unspoken agreement.

… _do you think Valie will wake up?_


	23. Trial

No sooner had they stepped aboard the carriage, Valie's vision had been clouded with black smoke and shining scales. Flames danced in her mind, and in the next moment, she found herself carrying the unconscious body of Mercer Frey with Karliah and Sarila, the golden-haired woman struggling to carry the man's weight. As the trio passed Maul by the front gate, the man gave them a look of surprise and confusion as to why they were carrying the unconscious Mercer Frey with an unidentified woman, and how Mercer had even gotten hurt in the first place.

When they had reached the Flagon, they had received all sorts of questions and exclamations from the fellow guild members. The three women sat Mercer down in a chair. Karliah and Sarila turned to Valie, who had cleared her throat. "Fellow thieves, there's been a grave misunderstanding." She began, prompting the thieves to gather around. "The journal, please." Karliah handed Valie the journal that had once belonged to Gallus Desidenius.

"This is the journal of Gallus Desidenius, the previous Guildmaster. I would like each of you to take a moment and read it, and its transcription from the Falmer language." Valie placed the rubbing inside the journal. "Who would like to read, first?" She asked, holding the journal up for all to see.

Vex stepped forward and took the book, carefully opening the first page. She placed the rubbing alongside it and read it word for word, her face growing more and more appalled as she progressed through the entries. As soon as she had finished, she turned towards Mercer Frey, slumped in his chair. "Son…of a…BITCH!"

Brynjolf and Delvin leapt forward to restrain Vex as she lunged for the unconscious Guildmaster. "VEX! Calm yourself, lass! What happened? What did it say?!" Brynjolf asked, trying to calm the raging woman. "Mercer is a traitor. He lied to us all! Read the damn book, Bryn! Gods!"

Brynjolf took the book that had been thrown on the table by the infuriated woman. He flipped to the first entry and read it alongside the rubbing, his facial expressions showing the same feeling and emotion Vex did. "I…I can't believe it. This can't be true; I've known Mercer for far too long. This can't be happening, it can't be."

Valie and Sarila exchanged glances before the former approached Brynjolf, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It is. I'm sorry, Brynjolf." Brynjolf reached up and took Valie's hand in his. "I'm glad it was you that broke the news. Had I heard it any other way…" He trailed off. Valie gave him a look of sympathy, pulling him closer. She wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry." "It's alright, lass."

Sarila watched as Valie comforted Brynjolf, who was stricken with grief over his mentor's betrayal. "What will we do about Mercer?" She meekly asked, her gaze turning to the traitor in question. Mercer Frey restlessly stirred, his bindings still firmly wrapped around his wrists. "We'll have to set aside some time to meet and discuss it. Karliah, do you have any words?" Delvin asked, looking at the Dunmer woman with gentle eyes. He had known her since before Gallus was murdered, and when she was exiled, he'd lost any respect he had for her. Now that she was proven innocent, Delvin felt a great sorrow overtaking his heart.

"I…I'm not sure. I've wanted Mercer dead for so long, but I knew I needed to keep him alive to bring him to answer for himself before the guild. He's slandered my name, destroyed my reputation, drained the vault—" "The vault?! By the Eight, Delvin, come to the vault with me!" Brynjolf frantically exclaimed, fishing in his pocket for his key to the vault. The two men ran into the cistern. The rest of the guild stood by, waiting for their return.

 _Valie…_

 _Valelia…_

 _Valelia Sharp-Sun, can you hear me?_

Valie was about to reply to the voices in her head until Brynjolf and Delvin stormed back into the Ragged Flagon. "The lass is right. Mercer's been a leech on the vault, and he's drained everything!" Brynjolf growled. "Wait, wait! What do you mean by everything?" Tonilia asked. "He means _everything_." Delvin added, rubbing the aching temples of his head. "Gods above, and to think this man is our Guildmaster!" Vekel exclaimed, fury overtaking his voice.

As the Guild yelled and berated the unconscious Mercer Frey, Valie stood by. She knew that she had accomplished something. By capturing Mercer and bringing him to the guild, she had prevented Sarila from being kidnapped, and subsequently, prevented the need to go after Mercer into Irkngthand. Most importantly, she prevented the untimely death of Kharjo, the selfless Khajiit who would have willingly sacrificed himself for the people he cared about in his life.

Her success at preventing disaster had Valelia wondering if she could prevent the rest of her friends from dying.

She also wondered if she could stop Alduin in time and prevent the downfall of Nirn.


	24. All The Dark Night

"What now?"

"We wait. Oriebbi and I have done all we can for her. If she doesn't wake up by tomorrow, it's likely she's in some kind of coma." Sa'etha paused, guilt overtaking her as she watched the room full of saddened expressions. She wished she could have done more to save Valie. Each person seemed to have a different form of upset plastered upon their face.

Omir stared ahead, sorrow in his gentle eyes.

Reea'th looked down at the ground, scarcely moving.

Evada looked sympathetically at the unconscious woman before her.

Mac had her teeth gritted and her fists clenched, presumably to hide the upset in her heart.

Ysgrig sat on the end of the bench hunched over with a morose darkness crossing his face.

Oriebbi stood by Sa'etha, sharing the Argonian doctor's guilt.

Kyrike looked more depressed than anything. His eyes were sunken, blankly staring up at the ceiling as he leaned back against the wall.

Though everyone was grieving over the severely wounded Valelia, none were as affected as the two figures in dark cloaks who sat at the auburn woman's bedside.

On Valelia's right side was Karliah, the kindhearted outcast of the guild who knew how to pick a few pockets without ever being acknowledged. Karliah felt intense grief; the woman she befriended at Snow Veil Sanctum, the woman who had proved her innocence, the woman she renewed her oath as a Nightingale with, lay unconscious in the bed with her arm gone.

On Valelia's left side was Brynjolf, her second-in-command, mentor, and most importantly, her beloved.

The red-haired man wistfully watched Valie as she slept, unsure if and when she would ever awaken. She had been missing for ten years, and the first time he had seen her since then was while she was unconscious with a recently amputated arm. He'd looked at her beautiful, sleeping face, down at her missing arm, then back up at her face.

Sa'etha cleared her throat, prompting every pair of eyes in the room to look up at her. "There…there is some good news. The weapon used to hack off her arm was clean, and the wound has shown no signs of infection so far. Back to the matter of the amputation, Valie was lucky—no, _very_ lucky—that the bone was cut straight through. Otherwise, if the bone was left jagged and uneven, more cuts would have to be made until the bone was more or less even. Lastly, the cauterization of the wound was particularly messy, but the bleeding has officially stopped, and she should be well on her way to recovery. There's just no way to know if she's in a coma or not unless she wakes up or remains asleep."

The room was once again filled with promise, and everyone began to trickle out of Sa'etha's laboratory except for Brynjolf, Karliah, Oriebbi, and Sa'etha, who still wanted to tend to the wounded Dragonborn. Kyrike relived the painfully graphic memory of witnessing Mac use her fiery talents on Sa'etha's clothing iron, and the subsequent cauterization of Valie's stump. He looked over at Mac as she briskly strode through the hallway, and he sped up to meet her. "Thank you for doing that." He gave a sad smile that disappeared as quickly as it came. "It's not a problem. I shouldn't have let that bastard get her. If I had listened to you and kept my cool, he wouldn't have taken her into that room and hacked her arm off. I suppose I'm just…hot-headed."

Had the situation not been so grim, Kyrike would have smirked at the fact that Maclyrniarth, the most stubborn Nord he'd ever met, was admitting her wrongdoing. "If you'd tried to negotiate with him, he could have exploited that and taken you, too. Gods know what those bandits could have done. What you did was what you thought was best, and I can respect that. What could I hold against you for it?"

Ysgrig tapped his son on the back. Kyrike turned around, Mac imitating his motions. "I'm proud of you, son. You brought Valie back, just like you said you would." Ysgrig smiled, clapping his son on the back. "I brought her back without her left arm, dad." Kyrike mumbled, ashamedly looking at the ground. "She's still alive, Kyr. We can't go burying her before she's dead. She can still survive without her arm." Ysgrig replied, looking back and forth from Kyrike to Mac. He cleared his throat a moment later and looked back towards the door to his room. "It's getting late. You should call it a night. I can only imagine how taxing the trip was." Ysgrig turned to Mac a moment later and pointed towards the alternate end of the hallway. "There's a guest room towards the end of the hall if you're staying. Make yourself at home."

Ysgrig headed back to his room and gently shut the door behind him. As soon as his father was out of earshot, Kyrike turned back to Mac with a hopeful demeanor. "You don't have to take the guest room if you don't want to. You could always sleep with—I mean, sleep next to me." Kyrike scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks heating up after his sudden slip of the tongue.

He and Mac stood silently, staring at each other for a moment before Mac spoke up.

"Why not both?"


	25. Awakening

Kyrike was unsure. He was unsure about everything, really. He couldn't live for even a second without questioning truth, logic, and facts. Kyrike was, however, certain about something, though.

Release was a wonderful thing.

He had welcomed Mac into his room, and his bed, with no doubts. The first three kisses were short and chaste. The fourth kiss between them was different. It was deeper, more passionate. The two had melted against each other, running their hands over various places on the other person's body.

Before he was even aware of what he was doing, Kyrike had peeled his clothes off, and was working Mac out of the light tunic she'd worn beneath her armor. He'd seen her body the night before, but he never seemed to tire of looking upon it. The pale flicker of the nearby candles alluringly reflected on Mac's form. Mac herself was a stubborn, boisterous woman. In the bedroom, a new side of her surfaced; gentle, understanding, perhaps even adorable.

As their hot, naked bodies slowly moved together back and forth underneath the velvety sheets, they'd made and kept eye contact on several occasions. A trusting gentleness in Mac's pale brown eyes could be noticed, and only in those blissful moments of sensual lovemaking did Kyrike truly feel a desire to discover the remnants of Maclyrniarth's mysteries. When she wasn't insulting him or flinging sarcastic remarks around like mud, she seemed like a caring individual.

While the two of them neared their peaks, they'd held each other closer, perfectly aware of the gesture of affection they were making. The candles burned dimmer and dimmer as the two made love, their soft, panting breaths growing more and more excited.

All at once, the world shook, and what seemed like a few moments later, Kyrike found himself awakening to Mac's head resting on his bare chest, the sheets still wrapped tightly around their nude forms. He wrapped an arm around her and gently closed his eyes once more, savoring the temporary moments of bliss. Whether it was still the dark of night or the coming of dawn, he knew not, but Kyrike wanted to lay in his bed with Mac for all eternity.

He wasn't sure what had happened between them. He wasn't sure why Mac would even think of doing such intimate things with him. He wasn't even sure why he'd agreed to it.

He was glad he had, though.

In an instant, Kyrike's moment of serenity was gone as the harsh rapping on his wooden door rang out in the room, causing both he and Mac to jump. "Yes?" Kyrike sleepily called out. "Can I come in?" Ysgrig asked from behind the door. "Uh, not right now, pa. I'm indecent." Kyrike replied. "Oh, that's alright, son. It doesn't bother me."

The door opened as soon as the words left Ysgrig's mouth. The older man looked rather sleepy himself as he entered the room. "Kyrike, Sa'etha says-" He stopped mid-sentence, Kyrike and Mac frantically scrambling to pull the sheets higher over their bodies to keep themselves covered. Ysgrig's eyes widened for a moment before they returned to normal. He exhaled and rubbed his temples. "Sa'etha says Valelia woke up. The amputation was a success." He announced with a slight smile. The room was silent once more before Ysgrig cleared his throat. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Breakfast is on the table; baked potatoes and apples."

Kyrike and Mac's cheeks were burning, a bright red appearing on their faces. They looked back at each other and slowly broke out into seductive grins, the memories of the previous night flooding back to them. "I suppose we should get dressed and head to breakfast now, or..." Mac mischievously giggled. Kyrike raised an amused eyebrow, wrapping an arm around her as they eased onto their backs and gazed up at the ceiling. "Or?" " _Or._ "

Kyrike chuckled and ran a hand through Mac's hair. "As tempting as that sounds, I'm hungry. Plus, we know that Valie isn't in a coma, and I want to go see her." He explained, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Don't worry, though. Soon." He seductively whispered before getting out of bed.

Kyrike and Mac took their places at the breakfast table. An armored Reea'th joined them, devouring the baked potatoes before focusing his attention on the crisp, crunchy apples. "Reea'th, what's the armor for?" Kyrike asked. Reea'th swallowed his mouthful of food. "Valie says she wants to join the Stormcloaks as soon as she's able to get up and out of bed; she can't make any progress on the Dragon Crisis with the war going on, especially with all the Thalmor and bloodthirsty scavengers prowling about."

Kyrike and Mac exchanged glances. They knew exactly what they were getting into.


	26. Carrying Out The Plan

Valie didn't even need to ask Kyrike to let her ride Varos to Windhelm. The auburn man knew she would need to conserve energy, especially with the loss of her entire left arm. Valie had trouble balancing on Varos at first, but she slowly got used to the feeling of using one arm for grasping the reins and keeping balance. Everyone remained silent for the duration of the trip, including Mac.

Windhelm was warmer than usual. It was the first time any of them had seen it without ice and snow covering the city. "It's been a long time, hasn't it, Ysgrig?" Reea'th reminiscently asked. "Indeed it has. The last time we were here was before…" He closed his eyes, pushing the memories of Lyvette, Marcurio, and Sarila's deaths out of his mind. His mind then drifted to Caehir. He sighed. "It's a shame Caehir had to miss this. He would've wanted to come back, too."

Kyrike, seeing his father's mood worsen, suggested they all get rooms at the nearby inn, Candlehearth Hall. Ysgrig's frown grew even more; Candlehearth Hall was the site of Qattindra's murder. Instead of showing further signs of upset, Ysgrig agreed, and the group of Stormcloaks and Stormcloaks-to-be settled at the inn for the night.

The next morning, they reported in to Galmar Stone-Fist bright and early. The war general was bent over his desk, poring over the documents and war orders, placing each in a tightly-capped scroll as soon as he finished reading it before he moved on to the next.

"General Galmar, it's been far too long." Galmar looked up to see Ysgrig, Reea'th next to him. Behind them were Mac, Kyrike, and Valie. Galmar let out a guffaw of pleasant surprise, leaving the tactical map table to greet Ysgrig and Reea'th. "It _has_ been too long, fellas. You came back just like you said, when you said! I see you've brought some hopefully aspiring recruits." Galmar remarked, giving a hopeful glance to the trio behind his two soldiers. "Is that Caehir fella coming in behind you? It's been a while since I've seen him, too, you know."

Kyrike watched over Reea'th's shoulders as Ysgrig broke the news of Caehir's unexpected death to Galmar. Galmar's jaw tightened, and he looked down at the ground. "May Talos look proudly upon him. Though he wasn't of Nord blood, that man was a hell of a soldier."

"So, about these three recruits." Galmar turned to the trio behind Ysgrig and Reea'th, who turned to face them as well. "I can trust they're strong. You fellas wouldn't bring them to me if they weren't strong. I mean, damn, they're practically all muscle." Galmar approached Kyrike, looking him up and down. "Your son, I can assume." He briefly turned back to face Ysgrig, who nodded. "He's a keeper. This boy—no, man—has the build of a warrior." Kyrike proudly straightened his posture after hearing the general's words of approval for him.

Galmar stepped up to Mac and sized her up. "You've got some pretty good arms on you. Not to mention, there's a fine line between small and large, and your form falls perfectly on that line, so you'll be able to move quicker while being able to stand your ground. Very versatile." He gave a nod of approval to the woman.

Galmar finally approached Valie, repeating his routine of sizing his potential recruit up. He turned to face Ysgrig before looking back at Valelia. "Are you joking?" He asked, his face stoic and emotionless. "Are you joking?!" He repeated, yelling at Valie, who merely blinked. "You're missing your entire left arm! Are you joking me, woman?!" "No. I'm here to join the Stormcloaks." Valie replied.

"Forget about it. You're a liability without two arms. You'd best go back to where you came from, because you're not going to last five minutes in the life of a Stormcloak soldier." Galmar ordered. Valie stood straighter. "No." "What?" Galmar snarled, his face snapping back toward's Valie's. "I said," She leaned in closer. "NO." Galmar jumped back in surprise, and Valie returned to her normal position. "I'm not going to just give up because some old bastard with a withered willy told me to get out. Just because I lost my arm doesn't mean I'm weak. I cut the damn thing off after a bandit couldn't cut all the way through the bone. It wasn't my choice to lose this arm. It _is_ my choice to join the Stormcloaks, and you're not going to stop me. You want to fight me, you old codger? THEN COME ON!"

Galmar's face reddened as he gritted his teeth, clenching his fists. He menacingly edged closer to Valie, the rest of the group looking on out of fear of the angry Galmar. "You have the gall to parade into this palace and tell _me_ what's what, and expect a fight. You are the most resistant, stubborn little bitch I've ever met." Valie's facial expression never changed, and she didn't back down when Galmar was barely an inch away from her face. "A true Stormcloak is persistent…a true Stormcloak never gives up." Galmar eased away from her before clapping her on the back. "Welcome to the Stormcloaks, Red-Braids."

After the trio had taken their oaths and had been formally recruited as Stormcloaks, Galmar addressed all five of the soldiers. "It's no secret that the Stormcloak Rebellion is in a very bad position on the war. Every hold except Whiterun, Riften, and Windhelm has been taken over by the Imperials. More and more of our forts are being garrisoned by Imperial troops each day. The worst part is that General Tullius has possession of the Jagged Crown. With all these things going wrong, our cause is going to fall to the Elves and the Imperials. Thankfully, I have a plan." He smiled.

"Ysgrig, you're going to retrieve the Jagged Crown. Tullius has been keeping it under heavy guard in Castle Dour before he hands it over to Elisif to legitimatize her ascension to the Throne of Skyrim." Ysgrig nodded. "I'll leave right away." Ysgrig replied. "Be careful out there, soldier. You're important to the cause. We can't lose you."

"Reea'th, Kyrike, I've got a special assignment for you." Galmar declared, Reea'th and Kyrike stepping forward. "Ever since that old Imperial Puppet Balgruuf died, his daughter, Dagny the Daring, has been running the show in Whiterun. Ever since she claimed position of Jarl, she hasn't chosen an allegiance. You're going to want to speak to Ulfric for the rest of the details."

Galmar turned to Mac and Valie who waited patiently for their orders. "As for you two, you're going to be heading to our camp in Hjaalmarch. We're going to need to perform some…eh… _engineering_ on the Imperials' orders. I'll explain once you arrive at camp. Look for the biggest tent with the tactical map table. I'll be waiting."

As Mac and Valie scurried out of the Palace of the Kings, Reea'th and Kyrike approached the mighty throne Ulfric Stormcloak sat upon. "Ah, Reea'th. Good to see you back." Ulfric gave a curt nod of respect before looking down at Kyrike. "Well, well. Glad to see Stormcloak patriotism runs in Ysgrig's blood. Kyrike Cairn-Spring, I knew you were a sensible lad the moment I found out Ysgrig had a son." Ulfric gave another respectful nod of acknowledgement to Kyrike. "I presume Galmar sent you here on account of the concerns for Whiterun's allegiance?"

The two men nodded affirmatively. "The time has come for Dagny the Daring to choose her side on the war. Her father, sly man that he was, managed to avoid the question of Whiterun's allegiance. Though he worshipped Talos, he never made his support for our cause clear. He made nothing clear. His evasion of allegiance has carried on to his heir, and she can no longer escape what must be known." Ulfric removed his war axe from his sheath and stepped down from his throne, handing it to Kyrike. "You two are to deliver my war axe to Jarl Dagny the Daring." "Shall we deliver a message with the axe?" Reea'th asked. "No. There is no need for words between two Nordic warriors. She'll understand."


	27. Business

**A/N: Hey guys. First off, I wanted to apologize, because this chapter was originally going to be released last week, but I procrastinated and just remembered today that I'd already written half of it. I felt pretty bad for leaving you guys out in the cold like that, so I hurried up and finished the chapter tonight, and it's all ready for release. So again, I'm really sorry for putting it off until the last minute (but hey, if you guys read the previous story, which I assume you did, you remember that sometimes I'd go MONTHS without updating, and I realize how frustrating that must have been, too,) but you can expect another chapter, and quite possibly _another_ chapter after that one. I'm not making promises, but this weekend, there's a strong possibility of several chapters being released at once. Enjoy the story!**

Ysgrig had made it to Solitude by the time the last bit of sun sank beneath the horizon, the eerie, smoky sky darkening each minute. His heart was racing in excitement; it was the first time in eighteen years he had been on a mission for the Stormcloaks. He knew they were on the brink of losing the war, but he also knew he wanted to continue serving and supporting the war efforts.

Castle Dour's doors swung wildly as soldiers streamed in and out of the operational center. Upon seeing the place crawling with Imperials, Ysgrig knew he'd made a smart choice when he decided to leave his plain steel plate armor on instead of wear his Stormcloak uniform. If the Imperials caught sight of Ysgrig in his Stormcloak armor, he knew he'd be good as dead.

Upon observing the soldiers who entered and left Castle Dour, Ysgrig noticed that not all of them were wearing their assigned Imperial armor. Some wore plain tunics, leather armor, even iron armor. Since so many soldiers weren't wearing their uniforms, Ysgrig knew he could slip in, snatch the Jagged Crown, and get out before anyone realized it was even gone.

Jarl Elisif the Fair, from what Ysgrig had heard, was beloved by her subjects, though was seen by many as merely a puppet. General Tullius, it seemed, was the real voice of power in Solitude. Though Elisif was popular amongst her subjects, she wasn't fit to rule over Skyrim, ergo Ysgrig needed to retrieve the Jagged Crown before her claim to the Throne of Skyrim and resulting title of High Queen was legitimatized.

Ysgrig mustered up as much of a casual expression as he could and strode into Castle Dour, his heartbeat speeding up with each step he took. He could hear the idle chatter of soldiers throughout the building, and he continued forward to the tactical map room.

Right where anyone could see it was the Jagged Crown, sitting plainly upon the tactical map. Ysgrig's eyes surveyed the room. Every soldier appeared too busy talking to notice Ysgrig. He approached the table and reached out to take the Jagged Crown, sweat beginning to form on his face. His hand brushed against the coveted, spiky helm when he stopped in his tracks and looked down at the tactical map beneath the Jagged Crown.

An arrow pointed to the city of Windhelm, marked with several extremely noticeable captions.

 _Windhelm, planned target for conclusion of the rebellion._

 _Estimated date is unknown, though set to occur in Frostfall._

 _New ballistas are to be shipped a day prior, set on the hills a distance away from the city._

Ysgrig smiled to himself. The Imperials wouldn't be attacking for another two months, and by that time, their plans would need to change drastically, due to the operations being carried out against them. He knew to report the order of ballistas to Galmar Stone-Fist, though he had to focus on safely getting the Jagged Crown to the Palace of the Kings.

With one quick swipe of his hand, the Jagged Crown was swept away into his backpack. He looked around to see that no one had noticed him. The fact that no one had even suspected a thing was lucky.

 _Too lucky._

Ysgrig felt sweat dribble from his forehead onto his chin, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard footsteps approaching him. "Pardon, sir, but you appear to be a bit under the weather. Is something the matter?" An Imperial soldier kindly asked, though Ysgrig could detect a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Half an hour later, General Tullius and Legate Rikke had returned to Castle Dour after a successful reception of weapon imports by the border of High Rock. The smell of fresh blood and corpses lingered in the air, and Tullius gave Rikke a stern look that told her to unsheathe her weapon and proceed, ready to kill any threatening force inside.

They burst into Castle Dour, several troops following them, but they all stopped cold. Every soldier in the base had been mercilessly slaughtered. Blood stained the walls, windows, floors, and even a small splotch of sticky, crimson blood dripped from the ceiling in single droplets. The sickening musk of death was sharp in the operational center, Tullius and Rikke observing every gory detail in the halls until they reached the tactical map table.

"The Crown!"

Ysgrig had been on a carriage halfway to Windhelm, the atrocities not leaving his mind. He was glad, though, that he had aided the cause by reading the Imperial plans, stealing the crown, killing at least a dozen soldiers, and leaving the General and his trusty Legate a warning.

 _The Stormcloak Rebellion means business._


	28. Sorrowful Reminiscence

"Got here in a timely manner, I see." Galmar remarked, not looking up from the map he leaned over on the table. "Alright, what do you need us to do?" Valie asked, eager to perform her first mission as a Stormcloak soldier. "Need you girls to deliver some false orders to the Imperial Legate in Morthal." Mac growled in frustration. "Oh, yeah, that'll be nice, won't it? We just march up to the Legate and hand him some orders and expect him to believe us. It'll be absolutely _peachy._ " Mac spat, crossing her arms. "Not so quick, Firebrand. First, we need to get our hands on some Imperial orders to make the forgeries." Galmar glared, Mac shifting uncomfortably as she was reprimanded. "The inns at Dragonbridge and Rorikstead are frequent stops for Imperial runners, given their stances on the war. See if you can't "convince" one of those innkeepers to help you. One way or another, get me those documents. What do you say?"

"Aye, sir." "Consider it done."

Galmar smiled. "Good. And remember-keep the Gods, and they'll keep you."

The journey to Dragonbridge, the town closest to the camp, was surprisingly uneventful, save the few chaurus scuttlers that prowled through the marshy swamplands, though not even they caused trouble.

"Something's different about you ladies." Faida, the innkeeper at the Four Shields Tavern in Dragonbridge, declared, crossing her arms suspiciously. "I hope you're not here to cause trouble." Valie shook her head. "Not at all. We just need to know if you've seen any Imperial couriers around these parts lately." The auburn reasoned. "I tend to keep my patrons' privacy." Faida sternly replied, her steely gaze intensifying. Mac opened her mouth, her eyebrows slanting with evident irritation, but Valie silenced her by raising her hand. Mac's mouth fell closed again a moment later, the crease between her eyebrows slightly fading as her facial expression returned to normal. "We _need_ to know. His life is in danger." Valie pleaded.

Faida's eyes widened. _Surely, these girls can't do him any harm. Hell, the red-haired one's missing an arm. They have to be telling the truth._ "It is? Well, that's different." She began, licking her dry lips to speak again. "He was here, but he left. If you leave now, you might be able to catch him. Or, you can just wait here. He'll be back soon enough."

Mac and Valie kept a brisk pace as they walked along the path. Not long after they'd left, they could barely make out a figure crossing the bridge, the silvery moonlight gleaming brightly upon his Imperial uniform. The two women crept over to a nearby bush and ducked down, hiding from the soldier's view, the man dawdling about the bridge. "What's the plan here, Valie?" "Do you think ye could scorch him with yer fire from over here?"

"No. No, no, NO. I am _not_ doing that." "What do you mean? The bush provides a good hiding spot, and from this angle-" "I didn't say I _can't._ I said I _won't._ " "What? Mac, what's wrong?" Valie went silent a moment later.

"...Mac, are you...crying?"

Mac weakly sniffled, blinking back tears, the saltiness cruelly stinging her light brown eyes. "No. Just...got something in my eyes." She gruffly wiped the tears away with her hands, sighing heavily. "No. No, I...this soldier, this _man,_ hasn't done anything wrong to me. The bandits and vampires were different, but...this man is only doing his job; to deliver Imperial plans. This job could feed his family, the same family that would cry their lives away if they found out he had been roasted alive." She replied, tears reforming in her eyes. "Wait. Why are you alright with killing him, but not using yer flames to do so?" Valie inquired.

"Do you know what the fire does to you? What it does to your body?" Valie remained silent, watching with pity as Mac, the seemingly strong, unrestrained woman, broke down before her. "I'll tell you. It creeps across your skin, biting into your flesh, eventually tearing it apart. It pulls the air from your lungs, growing stronger and more lustful with each puff it usurps. All you can do is watch your body split into pieces by the flames, your lungs crying out for air until they too are consumed by the flames, voracious for life." She closed her eyes, inhaling shakily. "Do you know about...Uriel III?" She meekly asked. Valie nodded. "Aye. Captured in the Battle of Ichidag in Hammerfell. 3E 127, I believe. He was being transported to his trial, charged for crimes against the Empire, when a mob overtook his carriage and burned him alive inside."

"Yes. It...it's so horrible. It's happened to other people, too. Like..." Mac closed her eyes, tears pouring out onto her cheeks. "Like?" Valie gently urged. "It doesn't matter. Not now. The point is...a quick, virtually painless death by blade is one thing. A terribly grisly, gruesome, and outright brutal death by being ripped apart by life-extinguishing flames is another." She wiped her eyes once more. "I'm sorry I asked. If it helps, I have a new plan." Mac nodded, listening intently as she pushed the dark, scarring memories out of her mind. "You sneak under the bridge and over to the other side. Give a signal, and I'll distract the soldier while ye come up behind him and take him out quiet. Got it?" Mac processed the idea for a moment before stepping into the water, quietly swimming through until she reached the other side. She proceeded to creep up onto the bridge, lingering twenty feet or so behind the lone soldier, giving a nod to Valie.

Valie jumped out from behind the bush and ran towards the soldier, screaming and adopting a look of terror. "Help! Help me! My arm is gone!" She wailed, clutching her stump. The soldier, taken aback for a moment, overcame his initial shock and ran to assist the one-armed woman who had just approached him. At that moment, Mac charged forward and swung her crooked axe through the soldier's skull, Valie flinching when the point of the weapon shot through his mouth. The man gurgled for a couple of seconds before he went silent, Mac shaking her weapon off. When she'd freed her weapon from the soldier, he collapsed with a sickening _splurch,_ blood pooling around his body.

Valie and Mac looked down at the soldier, pleased with their teamwork, and began rooting around in his pockets and satchels until they found a clearly labelled scroll containing the Imperials' plans. The two smiled. Their work had only just begun, and it was already packed to the brim with excitement. All they needed to do was get the orders back to Galmar, alter them a bit, and presumably deliver them to an Imperial authority. How they would succeed in the latter, they knew not how, and assumed they would need to do a bit of convincing to make their target believe them, but one way or another, the forged plans would make it to the authorities, giving the Stormcloaks the upper hand.

The two wondered aloud, on their refreshing journey back to the Hjaalmarch Stormcloak camp, how Reea'th and Kyrike were faring in Whiterun with their special operation.


	29. No Entry

"What do you want me to do, say it slower?" Kyrike asked, gritting his teeth in evident frustration.

Kyrike was usually emotionless. It was rare for him to frown, rare for him to show irritation, and even rarer for him to smile. But his frustration sparked, for it had been hours. _Hours._ It had been hours, and the stubborn guard at the gate still wouldn't let he and Reea'th into the city of Whiterun, which was supposedly under maximum security. "We. Have. A. Message." Kyrike sounded out each part of each word slowly, as if to mock the guard. "You're not getting in. Jarl Dagny is not having visitors to the city, and she strictly instructed us to keep the gates closed to all except any authorized personnel she has specifically assigned. So unless you two are guards or representatives from Emperor Titus Mede II, you're not getting into the city, and that's final." The gruff gate guard declared, crossing his arms.

"Well, who's to say we aren't loyal guards of Whiterun who have just forgotten to wear our proper uniforms today?" Reea'th mischievously grinned. "You're _not_ guards here. Get out, else I'll be forced to arrest you. Or, if it comes to it, more...drastic measures." He eerily threatened.

Kyrike soon found himself fishing through the newly killed guard's pockets for the key to the city, Reea'th stoically wiping the fresh blood from his blade. Kyrike felt something jab his hand, and he pulled out the key to the gate of Whiterun. He quickly showed Reea'th, whose face immediately lightened up. Kyrike inserted the key into the keyhole of the gate and turned it, the gate unlocking with a satisfying click. He quickly entered the city with Reea'th, gently closing the gate behind him so as to not alert suspicion. _One step closer to getting this war over with._

A moment later, Kyrike felt a blade up against his neck, the sharp edges pricking at his skin. "Who are you, and how did you two get into Whiterun?" A woman's voice hissed in his ear. Kyrike looked over to see Reea'th with a dagger against his neck, apparently belonging to the same woman. "Well?" "I'm Kyrike. This is Reea'th. We're here to deliver a message to Jarl Dagny the Daring."

"Yeah? Well, listen up, _Kyrike."_ She maliciously growled. "Dagny isn't taking visitors. She's _never_ taking visitors. And if you two got in here legally, you're either guards or authorities from the Empire, and I don't see uniforms on you guys." The Imperial woman snarled. "Could you...let us go now?" Reea'th meekly asked, wincing when the blade was pressed harder against him, beginning to irritate the sensitive scales of his neck. "No. Jarl Dagny orders her upstanding citizens to kill any stragglers on sight, especially at this time of year. No one can leave Whiterun, and no one can enter."

"Now hold on just a moment, no one needs to die. Let's all just calm down and talk for a minute. Who are you? What's your name?" "Adrianne Avenicci, blacksmith of Whiterun. My late father, Proventus, used to be Jarl Balgruuf's steward before he kicked off. It's how I have such close ties to Jarl Dagny." She answered, not loosening the grip on Reea'th and Kyrike. "Given that you and the Jarl are on relatively good terms, I can assume that you won't be letting us go, will you?" "Considering we just met, and considering you illegally snuck into the city somehow, I certainly have no plans to release you." "Is that so?" Kyrike jolted backwards, his head colliding with Adrianne's. A sickening crack rang through the air, blood shooting from Adrianne's broken nose. "Son of a bitch!" She yelled, dropping her daggers to grasp at her nose, blood spurting from it like a volcano. Kyrike kicked her in the shins, the Imperial blacksmith collapsing. Kyrike planted his boot in the middle of her back, and Reea'th stuck his sword clean through her skull, pulling it out immediately after.

The door to the blacksmith's shop burst open, a big, bearded man rushing out. "You bastards! That's my wife!" He yelled, lunging for Reea'th, who just happened to be closest to him. "Aaargh!" Reea'th cried out as the man tackled him to the ground, the Argonian dropping his sword several feet away. "Reea'th! Hold on!" Kyrike called, running towards Reea'th. He felt two strong arms fasten themselves around his upper body, restraining him from helping Reea'th. He craned his head to see a tall woman in steel plate armor holding him back. "Uthgerd, keep him back!" The man yelled. "Can do, Ulfberth. Who do these sons of bitches think they are, storming into Whiterun while Dagny's holding her Sumptuous Soiree?" The woman snarled, bringing her hands up to Kyrike's neck, tightening her grasp.

Kyrike instinctively reached up and clawed at her hands, desperately trying to pry them off him, or at the very least, loosen her iron grip. "It...appears we're in a predicament, hmm?" Reea'th rhetorically asked, resigning himself to capture. "That's a bit of an understatement, Reea'th." Kyrike managed, Uthgerd's grip loosening enough for him to breathe and talk easier. "Pipe down, fella. We're going to bring you before Dagny at the Soiree and let her decide what to do with you whelps." Uthgerd looked back over at Ulfberth and gave him a nod. The hulking fellow released Reea'th and allowed him to stand back up before Uthgerd put her hand around his neck, too. "I won't forget to tell Jarl Dagny what these two have done to your wife." The steely-eyed woman sorrowfully looked down at Adrianne's body and the ever-growing pool of blood that formed on the ground surrounding what remained of her head before sympathetically looking back at Ulfberth. Uthgerd quickly brought the two Stormcloaks up to the Wind District, and soon after, the Cloud District, where they would be brought before Dagny and castigated.


	30. Dagny's Ultimate Control

**A/N: Happy New Year! Here's a New Year's gift from me to you. Please be sure to leave a review and let me know how I'm doing, even the simplest of reviews make my day. Enjoy!**

"Jarl Dagny, I beg your forgiveness," Uthgerd began, catching her breath from the trip up to Dragonsreach. She tightened her grip on Kyrike and Reea'th's necks, causing the two men to instinctively bring their hands up to try and pry hers off, before she flung the two Stormcloaks before the throne. Dragonsreach was silent, save the murmurs of disapproval from the crowd. "But these two Stormcloaks have got a message for you. It's from our esteemed friend, _Ulfric_." Uthgerd spat, venomously emphasizing the Stormcloak leader's name. "Might I add, they are not permitted to be here. They somehow snuck in through the gate without the guard stopping them, and murdered Adrianne Avenicci." The crowd audibly gasped and began to chatter a bit louder upon hearing the warrior's words, exchanging whispers of worry and anxiety.

Kyrike slowly looked up, swallowing hard when he could make out the glaring tip of a sword pointed at him. "Rise, rebels. To your feet." A feminine voice ordered. The unknown woman's voice wasn't kind like Evada's or Valie's. It wasn't even witty or playful like Mac's. The voice was cold, almost soulless, but a trace of calmness was apparent in the woman's words. Kyrike placed his hands firmly on the wooden floor, pushing himself off the ground alongside Reea'th, who rose to his feet only a moment after Kyrike did.

Before the pair sat Jarl Dagny the Daring on her throne. The throne she sat upon was, one might say, glittery. It was dotted with sapphires and emeralds, the armrests made of solid gold. Kyrike found himself wondering how she could afford such a luxurious throne with the scarcity of jewels in the mines of Skyrim. "Who carries the axe?" Dagny sternly asked, her dark brown eyes shooting back and forth from Reea'th to Kyrike. "The axe? How did you know about-" "You have not answered my question." Dagny glared, Reea'th quickly quieting down. "Who carries the axe? You, lizard? Or perhaps my kinsman, the fellow Nord?" She cast a quick glance over at Kyrike, who stepped forward, holding Ulfric's axe firmly in his hands. "This, my lady, is from Ulfric Stormcloak, as you currently know. He offers this axe as a symbol of questioning, he simply wants-" "Come with me, Nord with the red hair. To my office."

Dagny stood up from her throne, her velvet red gown trailing behind her as she walked through the crowd of partygoers, waving them away with several simple brushes of her gloved hands. Kyrike looked back at Reea'th and gave him a nod of reassurance. Reea'th gave an awkward grin, coughing uncomfortably when the crowd began to stare at him.

Before long, Kyrike found himself sitting in the simple oak chair at the opposite side of Dagny's intricately crafted desk, tiny boats and ships laced with roses carved into the wood. A silver goblet sat on the left side of the desk, and on the right, there was a small pot with remnants of a flower that looked as if it had died years ago. Jarl Dagny's chair was large, padded, and imposing. Kyrike cleared his throat as he waited for Dagny to finish fixing her bun, several stray locks of her raven hair escaping her grasp. "This is certainly a well-decorated office, my lady." Kyrike respectfully complimented, eyeing the chandelier that dripped pearls and diamonds. "But you are too kind, sir. May I ask your name before we begin our discussion?" She asked. "I am Kyrike Cairn-Spring, just a humble soldier of the rebellion."

Dagny leaned forward and pursed her lips. "Well, Kyrike, I suppose we should begin now, shall we?" Kyrike nodded. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Yes, it has been a while since those words have left my lips. Ulfric. Stormcloak. He's sent you to me, delivering his axe. That, I had deduced the moment Uthgerd mentioned you and your Argonian friend were Stormcloaks." She continued, Kyrike remaining silent. He could tell the jewel-obsessed Jarl was going somewhere unexpected in the conversation, but he didn't know what she was going to say next. "However," Dagny frowned. "You two managed to break into this city. We don't exactly take kind to outsiders. With the war going on, Whiterun, given its location in the center of Skyrim, is at risk of an ambush. The Imperials could swoop in and try to take over, the Stormcloaks could drop in and start putting their boots to the doors, it's a big risk, Kyrike. The dragons came back in 401, and now, there's even more of them." Dagny explained. "You see, Whiterun needs to stay as isolated as possible. We've got to take care of our own, and it certainly doesn't make us feel any better if you break into our city and murder one of our residents in cold blood."

"She attacked us first." Kyrike argued. "Because she knows letting people into our city is a bad idea. Seeing as you two most likely stole the key from the guard or killed him for it, the reasoning for our isolation policy isn't unfounded." Kyrike scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling ashamed. "The way things are now, you can trust no one. Not even those closest to you." Dagny muttered, picking up the silver goblet before her. As she lifted it up to drink its contents, Kyrike noticed a bright sapphire on the underside of it. _Damn, why is this woman so obsessed with jewels?!_

"You don't know that." Kyrike raised his voice, Dagny briefly lowering the cup. "Come again?" "You don't know that. The people closest to you are always trustworthy." He argued, thinking of everyone he resided in the Home with. "No, Kyrike. I _do_ know, for a fact, that those closest to you, in any given circumstance, will be there, but that does not mean you can trust them." She retorted, polishing the silver of her goblet a bit more before taking another sip of her wine. "How do you know?" Kyrike demanded, beginning to grow angry.

Dagny let out a chuckle. More and more chuckles began to escape her lips until she was full-out laughing. She took another sip of her wine and sighed contentedly. "How do you think I became the Jarl of Whiterun at the age of fifteen all those years ago?" Kyrike scoffed. "You were crowned, my lady. When a Jarl dies-" Kyrike suddenly stopped. "Catching on, yet? Did you honestly think my father died of a deadly case of Bone Break Fever?" "No." Kyrike mumbled, slowly coming to the realization. "Yes, Kyrike. I killed my father, and with his brother, Hrongar, out of the picture, his heirs were solely his children. He was not fit to rule Whiterun. He was weak. A strong Jarl wouldn't let his teenage daughter cut his throat out with a fragment of a broken plate." Her smile grew wicked. "And my brothers...Frothar and Nelkir...they didn't suspect a thing. They fought over who should be crowned as Jarl. Neither one thought his sweet sister would gut him while he slept."

"You're a murderer." "I'm a hero." "You murdered your family just to sate your hunger for power!" "It's more than that, you simpleton!" Dagny yelled, silencing Kyrike. "They were weak. My father never prioritized the safety of his citizens. He sent a detachment of Whiterun guards to Riverwood, and I will admit, that was thoughtful of him. But that was the only time he ever truly thought about his citizens. He sent the rest of the guard troop out one day to fight a dragon. A dragon. Just to save a goddamned watchtower, which, by the way, was already destroyed." She paused. "So many men lost their lives that day. So many guards threw themselves in front of that beast just because my father told them to. All the families they had left behind cried their lives away. He would have continued to aid the cause of fighting the dragons if I hadn't killed him. My brothers would have likely done the same, and given their immaturity, I made the right choice when it came to murdering my family." Kyrike shook his head in disbelief.

"That's absolutely repulsive." Kyrike replied, crossing his arms. "I'm protecting these people. By isolating Whiterun and putting it under maximum security, I'm protecting _everyone_." "I'm sure Adrianne really appreciated your protection." Kyrike snarkily spat back. "How could you say that when you're the one who murdered her?" "How could you say you made the right choice when you murdered your own family?" Dagny glared daggers at Kyrike. "I've told you, they were unfit to ascend to the throne of Whiterun. By enforcing such strict rules in Whiterun and raising tariffs, I can not only ensure that Whiterun will remain untouched by the outside world, but it will also prosper."

"Is that how you've got so many jewels in this castle?" Kyrike asked, slowly beginning to piece things together. Dagny nodded. "Indeed. I am not one for fashion, and don't assume that I am, but the jewels are here to impress the citizens of Whiterun with the glamor of the castle and strike fear into the hearts of the defiant. The glittering gemstones are solely used to portray power." Dagny proudly explained. Kyrike gave a nod, impressed. "That's actually pretty smart." "I got the idea from a necklace my first friend gave me. It was the last time I ever saw her." Dagny replied, sadness in her dark brown eyes. "Your...friend? I'm sorry. Who was she?" Kyrike asked, beginning to pity the lonely Jarl. "Her name was Lyvette. I met her when I was very young, maybe seven or eight. She taught me how to braid hair. Before she left, she gave me a friendship necklace. She said we would play some more when she came back in a few weeks. But...about a week later, I...got a letter...from my dad..." Dagny's voice began to crack, Kyrike gazing into her eyes with sorrow and reassurance. "He said he'd gotten a letter from the courier. Lyvette was killed by chaurus in a cave. The man who sent the letter, Ysgrig, sent this flower along with it. Lyvette picked it to give to me when we met again, but she never got the chance." Dagny wiped away a stray tear, looking over at the long-dead flower in the pot on her desk. Kyrike remained silent, but kept his look of gentle understanding. He knew Dagny was speaking of his aunt's adoptive daughter, but didn't want to startle her with any family connections to the girl.

"This is...irrelevant." Dagny closed her eyes, blinking out the rest of her tears. "You come delivering Ulfric's axe. That's been established." She paused, balling her fist. "You'd best hurry back to Windhelm and return the axe to our friend. Send him my regards." Dagny stood up from her seat. "And you'd better tell him that if he wishes to attack Whiterun, we'll be more than ready."


	31. Truth Revealed

"Are you sure this is necessary? Is Dagny really this distrustful of outsiders?" Reea'th asked the young woman, Mila Valentia, who guided the pair to her house under the instruction of Jarl Dagny the Daring. Mila sighed, brushing a strand of chestnut hair from her face. "I know it seems like Dagny is harsh. I won't lie, she's not the most enjoyable person to be around, but she just wants us to be safe. Maybe in just a few more years, we could be a little more relaxed. A little more...comfortable."

"Dammit, that woman is a problematic, dictatorial _bitch_. She just wants you to _think_ you're safe. How in Oblivion do you think Whiterun is going to be comfortable?" Kyrike asked, frustration evident in his voice as he balled his fists. Mila scoffed. "She'll eventually loosen her grip on us, I swear. I think she's already started relaxing a bit: she's letting you fellows spend the night here in the city. She's not usually this lenient." Mila explained, unlocking the door to the house. The three stepped inside, and Mila immediately set about starting a fire in the fire pit. "Make yourselves at home. The guest room is in the back behind the stairs, but there's only one bed. Mother is away for the next two days to fetch some produce from the local farm, so one of you is going to have to share a bed with me." She told them, warming her hands by the crackling fire.

"Kyrike, I stayed up a bit later than I should have last night, so I'm going to turn in early." Reea'th began, and Kyrike rolled his eyes with a slight smile. "Don't even finish that thought. I know you're about to ask if you can have the single bed tonight." Kyrike guessed, and Reea'th nodded, looking at him with hopeful eyes. "Take it, bastard. But you owe me a drink." Reea'th laughed and gave him a clap on the back, walking over to the guest room. "That's the Kyrike I know. Thank you." He smiled, closing the door.

"Should I take any dinner in to him?" Mila asked, pouring a base broth into the cooking pot over the fire. "He'll be fine. Reea'th had about seven apples before we came into the city." Kyrike told her, taking a seat at the table. "I'm making some apple cabbage stew tonight if you're interested." Mila offered, gesturing to the crate of apples and cabbages that rested against the wall. "I...yeah. Yes. Yes, that would be good, thank you." Kyrike gave a small smile, moved by the young woman's kindness to what her fellow townsfolk had seen as outsiders.

About an hour later, Mila brought two steaming bowls of apple cabbage stew to the table, setting one in front of Kyrike. "Need a spoon?" She asked. Kyrike shook his head. "It's alright. I prefer to eat with my hands." He declined, dipping his right hand into the bowl. Mila nodded, scooping spoonfuls of the soup into her mouth. "I've never met a real Stormcloak soldier before. What's serving Ulfric like?" She inquired, tilting her head curiously. Kyrike shrugged. "I mean...it's about exactly as you'd expect. This is my first real mission, but my pa's been in the Rebellion since I was born." "Dagny never wanted any alliances. I'm honestly not surprised she turned the Stormcloaks away, what with how cynical she's been since her father and brothers' deaths." "Dagny is a dishonorable s'wit. I don't see why you people even obey her." Kyrike bitterly replied.

Mila gave a slight frown. "Why's it always the handsome ones who have the most attitude?" She asked herself, slurping up another spoonful of apple cabbage stew. "Well, you're not so bad looking yourself." Kyrike laughed. Mila giggled a bit, brushing another strand of hair from her face. "Oh, hush now. You're embarrassing me." She replied, her cheeks a light shade of pink. Mila cleared her throat a moment later. "At any rate, Dagny isn't all that bad. No one has prematurely died under her rule, and you admittedly can't say that about any other Jarls in Skyrim." Kyrike opened his mouth to shoot a retort back at Mila, but instead looked down and continued eating his apple cabbage stew, his blood boiling with rage. Dagny had fooled everyone and forced them to do her bidding while keeping a deep, dark secret from them. Dagny, he had decided, was truly evil.

Kyrike went to bed late that night. When he lay down, Mila stirred a bit and sat up, sleepily wiping her eyes. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to wake you." Kyrike apologized, pulling the covers back over them. "It's alright. But...I have a question...about the meeting you had with Dagny." Mila meekly began. "Alright. Go ahead." "What...what did she say to you? I mean, what did she say to you to make you hate her so much?" "Oh, Gods. Do you really want me to tell you?" Kyrike asked. Mila nodded. "Are you absolutely sure?" She nodded again. "Jarl Dagny...she murdered Balgruuf and her brothers." "What?" "Dagny killed her family just so she could ascend to the throne of Whiterun." He repeated. "I...oh, Gods! I knew there was something strange about Balgruuf dying of bone break fever, then his sons dying of brain rot not even two days later." Mila declared, tears forming in her eyes. "Jarl Dagny lied to us...she...she..." She wiped her eyes and inhaled deeply. "I, uh, I don't feel good. I...I need to sleep." Mila whispered hoarsely, rolling over. "I'm sorry. Goodnight, Mila." Kyrike apologized, closing his eyes.


	32. Interested

**A/N: Hey, guys! I've occasionally been writing one-shots and mini stories to try and advertise this one because it's not getting a whole lot of views due to the fact that this site does not display M-rated stories unless they are specifically searched for. Remember to leave reviews to let me know how I'm doing! Constructive criticism and advice is also much appreciated. Enjoy!**

It was early that morning when Kyrike awoke to the scent of freshly-baked sweetrolls. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, reluctantly pushing the velvety covers off himself as he got out of bed. He stretched his back and arms a bit before heading out the door and down the stairs to join Reea'th and Mila at the table. "Morning, Kyr. Thanks for letting me take the single bed last night." Reea'th smiled, forking a particularly glaze-covered piece of sweetroll into his mouth. "Not a problem, but you'd better not forget that you owe me a drink." Kyrike playfully warned, taking a seat next to Mila.

"I never did get the chance to thank you for all you've been doing for us. When we came into Whiterun, everyone had it out for us." Reea'th thanked, giving a kind smile to Mila, who nodded and returned the smile appreciatively. "It was the right thing to do. I just don't like how everyone is so hostile to people who don't live in Whiterun." Mila's face turned grim and she turned to Kyrike. "What you told me last night changed everything. I...I don't know if I want to keep living in Whiterun, especially not under Jarl Dagny's rule."

Reea'th raised an eyebrow and swallowed his forkful of sweetroll, casting a glance over at Kyrike who shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Something you want to share, Kyrike?" Kyrike sighed and nodded. "First of all, I'll admit that I should've told you as soon as we left Dragonsreach, but I didn't really have a chance to. What I told Mila yesterday is what Dagny revealed to me in our little meeting. The only reason she's Jarl of Whiterun is because she murdered her own family to ascend to the throne." Reea'th's eyes widened a bit before his face returned to normal. "Well damn, Kyrike. You could have at least sugarcoated it. Next time, warn someone before you tell them about something so gruesome." Reea'th mumbled, wolfing down a glass of milk.

Kyrike nodded apologetically before looking over at Mila. "Mila, since Jarl Dagny rejected the axe, it's almost certain we're going to try and take over the city." Kyrike explained. "What? By diplomacy or battle?" "Most likely battle. Ulfric's not going to be happy about this. I want you and your mother to get all the food and supplies you can and stay indoors." Mila grimly nodded and gave a small smile. "We will. She always brings back extra food for us whenever she leaves the city." Mila paused a moment and stared ahead at her empty plate before looking back up to meet Kyrike's emerald eyes. "Thank you, by the way." "For what?" "For caring enough to warn us about the battle. You're a very kind man, Kyrike." She smiled.

Kyrike blushed a bit and goofily returned her smile. "It was the least I could do after all you've done for us. You're a friend, Mila." Mila smiled wider before clearing her throat and standing up. "I'll get your plates when you're done with them, and then I'll escort you to the stables where you can rent a carriage back to Windhelm." She explained. "Alright. Pack your things, Kyrike. I'm going to go grab my pack and meet you by the front door." Reea'th stood up and walked back into the smaller guest room.

On the way out of the city, Kyrike and Reea'th uncomfortably stared straight ahead to avoid the glares and spiteful chatter of the townsfolk who had jeered them the previous day. A dried puddle of blood announced its presence in front of the blacksmith. Kyrike frowned and looked away, almost regretting what he and Reea'th had done to Adrianne Avenicci.

When the gate shut behind them, Mila stopped in her tracks, prompting the two men to confusedly stop, too. "Reea'th, you should go on ahead and rent the carriage. I'd like to have a word with Kyrike." Mila told the Argonian, who nodded and headed down to the drawbridge without question. "Am I in trouble?" Kyrike asked curiously, raising an eyebrow. "What? Oh, no, no, goodness no. I actually just...wanted to say goodbye, I suppose." Mila inhaled deeply, and Kyrike felt a twinge of worry. "Are you alright, Mila?" He queried. "Don't worry, I'm fine. Just..." She trailed off. "Listen. I know we just met. I know it's stupid, but I think I feel a little something for you. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind if we just stayed friends, but...there's just something about you, Kyrike. Really, I've never felt this way before. Not even with Lars Battle-Born, my former lover."

Kyrike nodded, his cheeks heating up. "I'll admit, you're pretty cute yourself, Mila." He paused. "Err, I-I mean, that's not...that's not the only reason I'm interested. Y-You're very kind, and you've shown generosity that I haven't seen by anyone else in the city, or anyone else in Skyrim, for that matter. When everyone else cast us out, you willingly took us in and helped. Even though Dagny ordered you to take us in, you weren't mean about it or anything. You're just so nice, and you're really pretty too, and you're-"

Mila giggled a bit and tucked her long strands of chestnut hair behind her ears. "It seems like you feel the same as I do, Kyrike." She smiled warmly. "You're right. I cannot deny." He chuckled softly. Mila's face grew troubled a second later. "I know you need to go back now, so I want you to be safe on the trip back to Windhelm." Mila ordered. "I promise, Mila. I'll come back to you." "You'd better." Mila softly giggled, slinging her arms around Kyrike's upper back and gently resting her head on his right shoulder. Kyrike returned her embrace and gently stroked her hair, closing his eyes and taking in her pleasantly flowery scent. "Take care, Mila." Kyrike whispered before gently pulling away. "Until next we meet." She smiled, walking back to the gate. The guard opened up the gate and closed it a moment later, Mila watching Kyrike head down the path until the gates fully closed.

About halfway back to Windhelm, Kyrike was about to doze off when Reea'th spoke up. "What was it that Mila wanted to talk to you about?" Reea'th inquired, tilting his head curiously. Kyrike's lips curled upwards in a small smile and he leaned comfortably against the back of the seat in the carriage. "I'm in love, Reea'th. She and I are interested in each other."

Reea'th blinked in surprise and awkwardly grimaced a moment later. "Err, that's great and all, but didn't you have something with Mac?" Kyrike's eyes widened and he jolted upward. "What?! How did you know about that?" He demanded, his cheeks flushing. "Your father told me the other day that he caught you two in bed naked the other day." Reea'th grinned, struggling not to laugh at how flustered Kyrike was becoming. "Damn it, pa! Are you the only one who knows?" Kyrike asked, embarrassed. "Sure I am," Reea'th replied, and Kyrike exhaled in relief until the Argonian continued, "Unless you count Evada, Sa'etha, Valelia, and Omir."

Reea'th let out the fit of laughter he had been containing when Kyrike gave a loud groan of frustration. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" He cursed. "Hey! You're screaming in my ear! Quiet down else you'll be walking to Windhelm!" The carriage driver warned. Kyrike glared at the back of the carriage driver's head and gave an exasperated sigh. "It's not like it matters, Reea'th. It was only a two-time deal with Mac, and she'd made it clear before that there were no-strings attached." Kyrike huffed, crossing his arms like a fussy child. "Are we done with this conversation?" Kyrike asked, frustrated. "Mmm, I suppose so." Reea'th nonchalantly replied. "Good. Now, I'm going to sleep. I suggest you get your winks in while you can, because we're almost there, and we'll probably have to travel back when the orders are given." Kyrike explained, leaning against the back of the seat once more. "Alright. Goodnight Kyrike." "Goodnight, Reea'th. And remember-" "Yeah, yeah. I still owe you a drink. I got it."


	33. The Return To Windhelm

**A/N: Gosh, I'm SO SORRY! I know I haven't updated since January, and I know that's REALLY frustrating for my regular readers. I was listening to music in my room today and casually browsing through my notes app when I found the storyline for this fanfic, and I was in shock that I had forgotten to post for all these weeks. I'm going to try and post more, I swear. I've just been super busy lately. Don't worry, the story is being continued!  
**

 **On a side note, I've also been concocting another story. I'll tell you about it next chapter, but here's a hint: it's a mini-series. Anyway, story time!**

"This is indeed interesting news," Ulfric began. "I'd honestly thought different of Jarl Dagny. Everyone is wrong in their judgment at some point, I suppose." He speculated aloud, accepting the axe back from Kyrike, who stood before his throne alongside Reea'th. "I can already see the sinister grin creeping across Galmar's face, and he's not even returned from Fort Snowhawk." "How did the battle for Fort Snowhawk fare, sir?" Reea'th asked, praying to the Hist that the battle had gone in their favor. Ulfric closed his eyes and smiled, reliving the message from the courier. "According to the messenger, our troops advanced on those Imperial bastards so quickly there was barely any time for them to blow the war horn. We annihilated the opposing soldiers there and garrisoned the fort within an hour."

 _Only an hour?_ Kyrike thought to himself. _That's quite a feat, even with the Dragonborn and a woman who wields the power of flames._

Before Kyrike could ask if Mac and Valie had returned from the battle unscathed, Reea'th had beaten him to it. "Any sign of Maclyrniarth and Valelia?" Reea'th asked. Ulfric shook his head, yet the smile never left his face. "Those two are just fine, I can feel it. That Mac girl's got veins of fire, and Valelia Sharp-Sun is, as one might say, a hard-ass."

The doors at the front of the main hall suddenly opened, the frosty winds of Windhelm forcing them shut immediately after. "Jarl Ulfric, I've got it!" Ysgrig called, dashing down the hallway. "I've got the crown." He paused, keeling over to catch his breath. "Excellent work, Ysgrig. When Galmar showed me the plans and chose you to execute the fetching of the Jagged Crown, I knew you wouldn't fail." Ulfric's smile grew wider. "I came close, believe me. About halfway to Windhelm, a few bandits jumped out of the woods and took potshots at the carriage. One of the arrows made its way to the horse's foot, next thing I knew, the carriage was flying off the road. The carriage driver and I barely escaped alive, but the crown is safe." Ulfric nodded. "You'd better go get a drink at Candlehearth Hall. You damn well deserve it." The Jarl ordered, tossing a small coinpurse to Ysgrig. Ysgrig nodded and licked his parched lips, stepping up to the throne to hand the Jagged Crown to the Jarl of Windhelm before scurrying off to the tavern.

"What's our next move, Jarl Ulfric?" Kyrike asked, stepping closer to the throne. "We need to wait for Galmar to return from Fort Snowhawk before we discuss anymore plans. However, it's highly likely that we're going to rally our troops at the outskirts of Whiterun and launch an attack on the city." Ulfric explained. "For now, you boys should go get some rest. You're going to need it, as the attack is going to occur soon."

Kyrike and Reea'th retired to Candlehearth Hall not long after their conversation with Ulfric. Ysgrig approached them and apologized for not greeting them earlier, as he had been out of breath from his run back to Windhelm. The two men merely shrugged it off and ordered a round of drinks. "How did your assignment go, pa?" Kyrike asked, taking another sip of his mead. "I had to slaughter an entire base of Imperials, so I suppose you could say things went well." Ysgrig replied with a wink. "Damn, Ysgrig. You're still a battle machine, just like the first assignment we got all those years ago." Reea'th grinned. Ysgrig chuckled a bit and wiped his mouth off on his sleeve. "I've been training every night for eighteen years, I'd think that's part of the reason I've not lost any of my finesse."

"You should probably go get some rest, dad. I can see on your face that you're worn out, and I know there's going to be a battle for Whiterun. I'm not sure when, but it'll be soon. We're going to need to conserve as much energy as possible for when Ulfric sends orders to gather at the outskirts." Ysgrig nodded and smiled. "It's rather amusing that my own son is telling me to go to bed. Don't stay up too much longer, Kyr. I'll see you both in the morning."

Kyrike and Reea'th spent an hour or so finishing their drinks and reminiscing until the Argonian announced he was going to bed, but not before slinging another bottle of mead over to Kyrike, who looked over at him questioningly. "It's the drink I owed you from when you let me take the single bed, remember?" Reea'th chuckled as Kyrike's face turned into one of realization, and the younger man soon joined his friend in modest laughter.

Kyrike had downed his drink in less than five minutes before heading to his own room to retire for the night. He stripped himself of his armor, and before removing his everyday clothes that he wore beneath his armor, climbed into bed. Even though nothing overly strenuous occurred that day, Kyrike was exhausted. In a mere two minutes, Kyrike was fast asleep. In those two minutes, Mac and Valie arrived at Candlehearth Hall, satisfied with the battle. The two women chatted for awhile before they too retired to their rooms, overtaken by the clouds of sleep that lingered over them.


	34. Calm Before The Stormcloaks

**A/N: Before I start this chapter, you may have noticed that, in last chapter's A/N, I promised that I would tell you about the new mini-series/spinoff of this series I'm working on.**

 **Well, I said spinoff, and rightly so. If you read the previous story, _Where The Cold Awaits,_ you know that I covered all the members of the Home and how they came to join the little family. Even now, Evada got her own slice of a chapter to tell how she joined the Home. **

**One of the members, however, never got their story submitted into the main series, and for a good reason.**

 **Omir, the most mysterious member of the Home, is getting his own mini-series to tell his origins and how he came to be.**

 **When I say mini-series, I actually mean a ten-chapter fanfic. But don't worry, it'll probably have about 20k words. The reason I'm putting Omir's origins into another story entirely is because it's waaaay too much to just put into this one.**

 **I don't know when it'll be done, but I've already completed the first chapter. No, I won't submit anything until the whole story is done. Sorry guys.**

 **As always, comments and constructive criticism are appreciated! Let me know how I'm doing and what I should do to improve!**

 **On to the story!**

Galmar returned early the next morning, and Ulfric filled him in on all the details regarding the Jagged Crown and the rejection of the axe. True to Ulfric's belief, Galmar immediately suggested launching an attack on Whiterun that evening.

The morning had arisen, and by ten o'clock on the dot, all the active soldiers in Windhelm had been summoned to the Palace of the Kings. Ulfric stood in front of his magnificent throne with Galmar to his right and Yrsarald to his left.

Ysgrig watched as Ulfric raised his hand, a hush falling over the crowd of soldiers.

"Fellow countrymen, there was a time long ago that I promised the annexation of Whiterun to our growing territories." He paused and shook his head somberly. "But it is no mistake that, over the years, our support has greatly diminished. Now, only Windhelm and Riften remained untouched by the Legion as they scour our land."

After he spoke, the hall was once again deathly silent. Ulfric gave a small smile filled with hope and determination. "That time I promised has arrived. Not next week, not next month, but tomorrow. You're going to leave today to meet at the outskirts of Whiterun and attack the city." He paused once again and straightened his posture. "The walls of Whiterun may be old, but they still stand, and we cannot rest until the city is rightfully claimed by the Stormcloaks."

A loud chorus of cheers rang out through the hall. The soldiers who had been sitting at the great table bashed the table with their fists in applause, ready to do anything their leader ordered.

Over the cheers, Ulfric spoke once more. "A new day is dawning, and the sun rises over Whiterun!"

Ulfric grinned fiercely as the sound of war cries and ecstatic cheers overcame the hall. The Jarl knew the Gods were once again on their side, and they would be watching the battle for Whiterun.

He just hoped things would go in their favor.

Kyrike and Ysgrig decided to ride Varos to the camp while Reea'th, Mac, and Valie took the carriage. The journey to Whiterun was, by contrast to previous trips, completely uneventful.

Halfway to Whiterun, Valie woke up from her nap. She glanced around the carriage. Reea'th was sharpening a hidden dagger, Mac was biting her fingernails down to the quick, and the carriages full of fellow Stormcloaks behind them were teetering about as they dragged along the trail to the outskirts of Whiterun.

Three quarters of the way to Whiterun, the sun dipped below the sky, and it only grew darker from there. Mac lit a torch for Reea'th and Valie to illuminate the area around them as the carriage bounced up and down. The trip, it seemed, was taking a painfully long time. Valie, at one point in the night, had asked Reea'th to uncork a bottle of mead for her, as she couldn't do it herself with only one arm. Reea'th agreed, but as soon as he had gotten the cork out of the bottle, the carriage lurched upwards and splashed the two of them in sweet, sticky mead. Reea'th swore aloud and Valie groaned in annoyance while Mac, who was across from them, gave several amused snorts before clearing her throat and looking away to hide the grin on her face.

An hour later, the carriage slowed to a stop, immediately waking all three Stormcloaks upon the lack of movement. They groggily stretched their muscles out and hopped off the carriage one by one. Varos had been tied to a stake in the ground. Valie wasn't sure if it was Ysgrig or Kyrike who had tied him there, but judging by the hastily-tied knots, she could tell that whoever had tied it was unmistakably tired.

Reea'th dove into the tent next to Kyrike's, and Valie and Mac decided to take the ones by the fire, which gradually dimmed as the night went on.

Two hours later, everyone was fast asleep beneath the twinkling constellations in the night sky. The gray clouds of smoke would sometimes conceal the stars, but the shining lights always pulled through.

Valie heard Mac stirring uncomfortably in the tent next to hers and rolled over. "Can't sleep?" She asked. "No. I'm nervous about the battle tomorrow." "Oh." Valie swallowed, not knowing how to respond. "Why are ye nervous? You were amazing at Fort Snowhawk." The redhead praised. Mac gave what sounded like a grunt of thanks before replying. "If we muck this battle up, the Imperials are going to kick our asses. Even if we don't botch this attempt to take over Whiterun, lots of people are going to die on both sides, and I don't want to be one of them."

"That's, uh...a reasonable thing to feel, Mac." Valie replied, swallowing once again. "Everyone is afraid of something, I suppose." "Even you, Valie? The Dragonborn?" "No." Valie answered. Mac snorted. "I'm not afraid of the battle so much as I am worried about the end result. My sole fear is that I'll end up burning someone I...care about. I don't want to have to go through that, not again, anyway." She sighed.

"Hell, I'm a mercenary. I get paid off to follow some knucklehead around and watch his back. What in the name of Oblivion am I doing in a Stormcloak camp awaiting a battle?" Valie chuckled at her new friend's impatience. "You'll have to find that out for yourself, Mac. Maybe you're doing this to help me fulfill my destiny as Dragonborn. The Gods know I can't get anything done with a Civil War raging through Skyrim."

"Whatever I'm doing, I'd better do a damn good job. Don't want to seem weak around all these milk-drinkers." Valie giggled at Mac's words and closed her eyes, gently humming to herself as she slowly relaxed.

All the tents were soon filled with the soft snores and relaxed breathing of the Stormcloak soldiers as they slept through the night, eager to jump into battle the next morning.

All the tents were filled but one.

Kyrike had climbed up a tree at the base of Whiterun's walls. He'd taken a few quick glances to make sure no guards were about, and he hopped off one of the sturdier branches and into the city. He crept with eager feet through the slumbering city until he approached a familiar building in the Wind District. He could hear a rapping sound akin to a hammer on nails, and he crept up and put his face against one of the windows.

His chestnut-haired love interest, Mila Valentia, was gently hammering several nails into one of the windows opposite him, and Kyrike gently tapped on the window. The woman turned around, initially startled. She squinted as she looked through the window and her eyes widened, her mouth breaking out into a big smile. She set her supplies down and ran over to the door to greet Kyrike. She opened the door and ushered him inside, gently closing it behind her.

The two instantly embraced, wrapping their arms around each other, never wanting to let go. "I've missed you, Mila." He whispered against her hair. Mila smiled and closed her eyes. "I've missed you too, Kyrike." They pulled away a moment later, their hands joined in between them. "Tell me, have the Stormcloaks come to attack already?" She asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

The red-haired man nodded grimly. "I'm glad you're taking the precautions and boarding up the house. I've never actually been in a battle before, but I've heard that things can get rather gruesome for the buildings and people in its path." "You needn't worry about me, Kyrike. Mother and I have done most of the fortifications already, I'm just finishing up before I head to bed with mum." She stroked his stubbly chin lovingly. "I wish you could stay. I've worried sick over you, wondering if you were going to make it back to Windhelm alright." Kyrike chuckled and took her tiny hand off his forming beard, holding it gently in his hand. "Don't worry about me, Mila. I'm resourceful and strong, and fast when I need to be." Mila nodded and the two pulled each other in for a final amorous hug. "Be safe." "You too."

Kyrike had made it back to his tent without worry, and lay awake for ten minutes or so before drifting off.


	35. Whiterun

The sky was a bright red. Maybe the Gods wanted it to represent all the fire in the city. Maybe they wanted it to represent the blood spilled by all the soldiers fighting for what they believed in.

No one knew what the Gods were thinking. All they knew was that the sky was a bright red.

"Do you think she's watching us?" Ysgrig asked Valie as they approached the outer walls, their weapons unsheathed. "Of course she is, Ysgrig. Sarila's out there in Sovngarde, and we're making her proud."

The two stopped in their tracks and gazed in shock at the wall, or at least what was left of it. The Stormcloak catapults had been hurling mighty boulders and stones at the walls of Whiterun, and one projectile in particular had completely obliterated a section of the wall. After recovering from their initial surprise, the two ran forward and joined their fellow soldiers in the attack on the city.

Ysgrig thanked the Divines he had Omir. The glass mace Omir had forged him all those years ago had never lost its reliability. Ysgrig had smashed ten Imperial skulls in by the time he made it to the drawbridge. He immediately stopped when a sharp iron arrow embedded itself in the dirt just three feet away from him. He looked up at the offending soldier who had been manning the control panel ledge above the drawbridge and flicked his wrist forward in one swift motion. His hidden dagger darted out of its sheath and flew directly into the man's chest. He grasped at his wound, twitching wildly as he fell backwards off the ledge. The lever that controlled the drawbridge was incidentally pulled back when the soldier's leg hit it as he fell off the ledge.

Mac was busy pulling her sword out of a newly dead Imperial soldier's ribcage when she heard the drawbridge lower. She watched as Ysgrig and Valie ran across it, followed by a horde of Stormcloaks and Imperials alike. In the crowd, she could make out two distinct figures: Kyrike and Reea'th.

Kyrike pushed one of the Imperials at the gate up against the wall and dragged his katana across the man's neck, blood gushing out of the wound. Kyrike released the soldier, whose body hit the cold, stony ground as Kyrike punctured another soldier's skull with his blade.

The gate door burst open with ease. It was almost a surprise that there were no reinforcements to the gate, but Kyrike realized that the Imperials must have thought the Stormcloaks wouldn't make it this far against their initial defense system.

They had thought wrong.

It was complete pandemonium in the city. The intense odors of burning wood and blood and rotting flesh filled the city, and the clashing of steel rang out through the atmosphere, accompanied by a chorus of fairly distant dragon calls. The sky, initially bright red, was now a shade of maroon. The smoke from the fires deepened the sky. Valie found herself admiring it on multiple occasions whenever she wasn't fighting for her life. It would have been a perfect atmosphere, had it not been for the battle ensuing all around her.

Reea'th had run to the opposite end of the city where the market had made its home. He ran up the stairs to the Wind District only to find a small, wooden barricade. He gave a resigned sigh and plunged his sword into the wood, hacking and chopping it with all his might. He keeled over, panting when he grew tired. He hadn't made much progress, but he would keep trying.

Suddenly, the Argonian heard rapid footsteps approaching. He whirled around with his sword at the ready, sweat dripping from his scales, only to find three Imperial soldiers sauntering over to him, almost cockily so. "Look, a loopy, little lizard all alone on the opposite end of town." One of the men sneered. "Where are all your fellow soldiers, Argonian? Did they abandon you?" A second one cackled. "What a fine pair of boots you'll make, lizard!" The third Imperial taunted, charging up the stairs.

The loud twang of a bow ripped through the sounds of the battle, and the man was practically flung off the stairs, an arrow sticking through the side of his head. Reea'th watched as the two remaining soldiers gasped, their attention turning to where the arrow had come from. Instead of another arrow, the bow itself had been pelted at one of the soldiers, who gave a grunt of pain. He grasped his head, blood flowing from the wound the blunt object had left. Reea'th gathered up what was left of his energy and began to descend the stairs, only to stop dead in his tracks when none other than Mila Valentia stuck a dagger through one of the soldier's throats and an arrow through the other one's eye. She removed her dagger and gave a tug on the arrow, which snapped in two when she tried to salvage it. "Damn." She muttered under her breath.

"Thank the Gods you're alright, Reea'th. Where's Kyrike?" She asked frantically. "He's somewhere in the thick of the battle, I don't know! We got split up when I tried to find an alternate route." Reea'th explained as Mila kicked the remnants of the barricade to the ground. "Let's go! They might need our help!" She ordered, running towards the steps to Dragonsreach.

Soldiers from both sides had dropped into the moat of Dragonsreach, their lifeless bodies floating gingerly in the water that suddenly didn't look so clear after all. Kyrike had been fighting without rest, powered by his adrenaline. It took him a full three minutes before he noticed Mila had been engaged in combat against the Imperial soldiers as well. He decided to ignore it for the time being, and eight minutes later, all the soldiers on the bridge of Dragonsreach had been cleared of all the Imperials. Kyrike turned to Mila with curiosity. "Mila, what are you doing out here?" "She saved my life." Reea'th piped up with his trademark grin.

"I lay awake last night and pondered what you told me about Jarl Dagny a couple nights ago. I wanted to help the Stormcloaks in any way that I could." She smiled, giving a little curtsy. "You've helped quite a bit, Mila, but I think you should go home now. Hell is going to break loose the minute we step inside Dragonsreach." Mila nodded in understanding. "I know. Please be safe." She whispered, turning around before walking down the stairs. She turned back once more and gave a final meaningful glance before returning to her house.


	36. Friends And Enemies

The first thing Kyrike saw when he entered the hall of Dragonsreach was the almost uncountable number of Imperials at the ready.

The second thing he saw was a certain tyrant running up the stairs, her fancy gown trailing behind her.

 _Jarl Dagny the Daring._

"Pa, Jarl Dagny just went up those stairs!" Kyrike hissed in his father's ear. "I can tell by that look in your eye that you want to be the one to off her. Go on, son. We'll take care of things down here." His father ominously replied, cracking his neck as he slowly walked up to the nearest Imperial, crushing his head in with one swing of his mace. At that moment in time, the entire hall burst into chaos.

Kyrike began to run up the stairs, only to stop short when he saw an Imperial charging towards him. He stuck his katana out and let the Imperial impale himself before yanking the sword out of the man, who immediately collapsed onto the floor. "Dammit, Kyrike! Don't. Run. Don't draw attention to yourself." Mac growled in his ear. Kyrike nodded and sheathed his weapon, calmly walking through the battle.

 _This is suicide, this is suicide! Why would I listen to that crazy mercenary?! She's going to get me killed, and I'll be dead in the middle of a battle! Nothing more than a war casualty!_

Kyrike found himself successfully at the end of the hall, past the tables and firepit and ongoing battle.

 _Damn everything. Why the hell did that work?_

Kyrike shook the thoughts out of his head and vigilantly marched up the stairs. The doors to the Great Porch were left open just a bit, and Kyrike immediately knew that Dagny was waiting.

When he closed the doors behind him and turned to face Dagny, the murderous look on her face told him that she was waiting for him specifically.

"Kyrike Cairn-Spring." She spat, venom lacing her words. Her gown blew wildly in the raging wind. Kyrike gave a nod. "Jarl Dagny the Daring." "How did I know you would somehow survive the chaos out there?" She asked rhetorically. "Was it the look of determination in your eyes when we first met? Was it the persistence you showed me in our little chat? Or, perhaps, was it the blood on your weapon after you murdered Adrianne Avenicci?"

"For the last time, woman, it wasn't murder! She'd attacked us first!" Kyrike snarled, clenching his fists. "And rightly so. Had Adrianne survived, you would not be here to be discussing this with me." She replied, her cold glare doing nothing to extinguish the fires of anger in Kyrike's heart. "That's right, you cold-hearted, murdering bastard. If Adrianne had just taken care of you and your lizard friend when she had the chance, things would be alright. My city wouldn't be ablaze. My walls wouldn't be destroyed. Your god-damned catapults wouldn't be launching boulders thirty feet from where they should be directed." She insulted. "It's not my fault the catapults' rock trajectories are inaccurately measured. Besides, the catapults seem to be doing a fine job of destructing your poorly-maintained walls."

 _Two can play the verbal assault game._

"You're not getting in my head, Kyrike. You've come here to fight to the death. Our battle will end soon enough, and I assure you that it will not be me whose blood stains the Great Porch." Dagny unsheathed her weapon, and Kyrike mimicked her motions. Instead of charging at Kyrike, though, Dagny grasped her greatsword, holding it closer to her. Kyrike watched in confusion as she made a cut straight down the front of her gown. She pulled the halves of her dress off to reveal a set of expertly-tempered steel plate armor. The malicious, bloodthirsty smile she gave Kyrike let him know that she wasn't fooling around.

Kyrike summoned all his willpower. He let the memories of their arguments surge through his brain, anger bubbling up inside him. He gave a fierce cry as he lashed out at her, almost recklessly so. She parried his katana's swing with little effort. She matched his every move, their swords clashing together as she blocked each of his swings and uppercuts. When they had reached the end of the Great Porch, Dagny rolled her eyes and quickly swung her sword to her left, leaving Kyrike surprised.

 _"Argh!"_

Kyrike's hand naturally went up to feel his face. He could feel warmth rising to his left cheek, unmistakably blood. Kyrike knew it wasn't a very big slice, but it certainly did hurt.

"That was a warning, you little-" Dagny yelled out, raising her right arm to look at the damage.

Kyrike's katana had sliced through the sleeve of her steel plate armor, leaving a five-inch gash in her arm.

"And _that_ was a warning for _you_." Kyrike smugly replied, glaring daggers at Dagny, who returned his expression.

Kyrike saw something moving in the corner of his eye. He turned his head when Dagny did, for she had apparently noticed it as well.

One of the catapults was preparing to launch an enormous boulder at the wall. At the last second, the catapult's poor quality caused it to swivel, and the boulder was suddenly hurtling towards the Great Porch before long.

"Oh-" "-no." Dagny and Kyrike mumbled, finishing each other's sentences as the boulder rapidly approached.

 _CRA-CRAK!_

The two of them flinched, their eyes snapped shut. They slowly opened their eyes, surprised when nothing happened, but their hearts sank when another low rumble was heard beneath their feet.

The end of the Great Porch was suddenly cracking. It rumbled and shook, and before long, collapsed.

Kyrike and Dagny both cried out in terror as they descended.

The world was spinning. Kyrike felt like every bone in his body had been broken, but once the shock passed, his cloudy vision began to return to normal. His body was slowly getting used to itself again, the pain slowly subsiding. The clouds of billowing smoke above him were beginning to look like all sorts of things.

Houses.

Trees.

Mammoths.

Dagny.

Kyrike's vision blurred again when he felt a kick to the side of the head. Coming to his senses, Kyrike rolled away from Dagny and found the base of a support column that had not yet collapsed. He leaned up against it and slowly eased back onto his feet. He suddenly noticed that he wasn't wielding his katana, and he whipped his head around frantically in search of it. Thankfully, it was merely behind one of the other support columns. Dagny charged at Kyrike, and he immediately took off running to retrieve his weapon. He quickly picked it up off the ground and grasped its hilt firmly in his hands. Dagny laughed, almost psychotically. "You really don't give up, do you? Now I see why you survived the battle; it's because you're a stubborn ass!" She snarled, gripping the hilt of her own greatsword like her life depended on it.

"I'm not a stubborn ass." Kyrike began. "I'm _the_ stubborn ass. And I'm not going down without a fight." He replied, cracking his neck out of habit, just like his father.

What surprised Kyrike was that Dagny had thrown her weapon down. What surprised him even more was that she had charged towards him at the speed of light, prying the hilt of his katana out of his hands. Kyrike tugged back, not willing to let his beloved weapon go. The _last_ thing he wanted was for Dagny to kill him with his own weapon.

Another shudder and rumble echoed in the small space below the Great Porch. Kyrike and Dagny were too busy fighting over the katana to worry about it. There weren't anymore boulders being hurled at the Great Porch, so the two had no reason to pay attention until Kyrike noticed what was causing the rumble. The column directly behind the two of them was on the verge of collapsing, and if they didn't move soon, they would instantly be crushed.

In the heat of the moment, Kyrike twisted the katana's blade so it wasn't in his way, and he headbutted Dagny with all his might. Dagny stumbled back and fell to the ground, clutching her head. Kyrike ignored the throbbing pains that rippled through his skull and ran, the column slowly descending.

 _KFFFF._

Kyrike panted, gasping to reclaim his breath as his adrenaline slowly died down. He didn't need to turn around to know that all that remained of Dagny was a crushed, broken body.

The young man lay down and observed the war-torn sky above him. The redness turned to orange as the sun set, the clouds of smoke lessening and lessening as the sounds of the battle died down.

The blood flowing from the cut on his cheek had stopped, but he could tell his face looked like a murder scene.

He didn't know it, but he had fallen asleep gazing up at the sky.

"NO! My...my boy! MY SON IS DEAD!"

Ysgrig sobbed, looking down at Kyrike's still body, blood covering his paled face. "What?! WHERE?!" Reea'th demanded, rushing over to Ysgrig's side as he peered over the edge of what remained of the Great Porch.

"Oh, Gods! He's dead!" Reea'th yelled, visibly distressed. All the memories of spending time with Kyrike as a baby, playing with him and training him as a child, and watching him grow into a fine young man had flooded through the minds of the grieving Ysgrig and Reea'th.

"Will you two shut up and help me? I'm not dead, I'm just exhausted! And I have one hell of a headache, so keep your damn voices down." Kyrike called up to the two, his eyes barely open.

Ysgrig and Reea'th had never been so happy to be told off by Kyrike in their lives.

Valie had found some rope in one of the supply closets in Dragonsreach, and it had been lowered down to Kyrike.

Before long, Kyrike had rejoined the group in Dragonsreach, celebrating their victory. Their spirits had been high, higher than they had been in a long time.

"Kyrike!" Kyrike turned around when he heard the familiar voice call his name, and had caught Mila in his arms immediately after. He chuckled and held her close to him before the two moved their heads back to look at each other. "Kyrike I...your face..." "Oh, come on, now. I can't be _that_ unattractive." He joked, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. Mila giggled and shook her head. "No, you aren't. You're very handsome, Kyrike. And I'm so glad you're safe."

The moment the words left Mila's mouth, the two locked eye contact and looked down at each other's lips before looking back into each other's eyes again. They filled the space between them by capturing each other's lips for a long, sweet kiss. Everyone in the room went silent and smiled, joyfully watching as the two reunited. Mac gave an indifferent look as she chugged down a bottle of mead. Kyrike and Mila broke the kiss a few moments later, joy filling their hearts.

 _Today was a good day indeed._


	37. Splitting Up

**A/N: Sorry for the longish wait, guys! I've been busy as usual, and I actually wanted to release this chapter like three days ago. Obviously, that didn't work. But anyway, please be sure to leave a review to add suggestions for the story, let me know what I can change, and let me know what you like. As always, constructive criticism is very much appreciated!**

Ysgrig awoke late the next morning at camp with a mild hangover. He wasn't sure if he was the only one who had anything to drink last night, but he could tell that someone else probably had if the pained groans were anything to go by.

He rubbed his eyes and slipped out of his tent, making sure to stand up carefully to spare his throbbing head. Kyrike, Valie, and Reea'th were already awake. Kyrike was chugging down a bottle of milk as Valie and Reea'th sat on the log next to him, staring into the dim fire.

"Morning, son. Valie, Reea'th." Ysgrig gave a curt nod to his other companions before sitting directly across from his son on the other side of the fire. "Don't talk so loud, pa. I've got a headache." He mumbled, grasping his head. Ysgrig quietly chuckled and nodded.

"What's the next course of action? Wait for the next order?" Reea'th asked Ysgrig, who merely shrugged. "It would seem that way, yes. Anything we can help you with, Valie?" The trio turned to Valie. Valie shook her head, smiling. "Though I do appreciate you asking, I've been instructed to carry out my next task as Dragonborn alone. My associate is planning things out, and I've got to meet her as soon as I can."

The group ate their breakfast in silence as more and more of the soldiers, including Mac, began to awaken. "I suppose it's time to head back home and wait for the next orders to come through. If you need any help, Valie, be sure to let us know, and we'll come running." Ysgrig stood up from his spot on the log and walked over to his tent, scooping up his backpack.

One by one, the group packed their things and they all met by the stables. Kyrike walked over to untie Varos from the post he had been tied to before the battle, and Varos nuzzled him appreciatively. He guided his horse over to the group.

"So this is where we're splitting up?" Ysgrig asked. Valie nodded. "I can rent the carriage to Solitude. That's where I'm headed. For now, ye be sure to get some rest before the next big adventure." Valie chuckled. Everyone took turns hugging Valie before she walked over to the carriage, paid the driver, and headed out, waving as she rode off.

Out of the corner of his eye, Reea'th saw Mac walking away from the group. "You're not staying?" Mac scoffed and turned back around, crossing her arms impatiently. "Hell no, lizard. I've got places to be, people to see." She replied, looking the trio of men over. "This isn't goodbye, though. I'll be back in due time." She added nonchalantly, walking towards the hills of Whiterun until her figure disappeared underneath them.

By then, Kyrike, Ysgrig, Reea'th, and Varos began their journey back to the Home. Kyrike had told Mila goodbye the previous night, but he had assured her he would return. Whenever Kyrike tried to think of something else, his thoughts would always drift back to Mila and her pretty face. Just as he was starting to get her out of his head, Ysgrig piped up.

"So, son, why don't you tell me about your girlfriend." Though Ysgrig was behind Kyrike, he could hear the smirk in his father's voice. "What's there to tell, pa?" "How'd you two meet?" He asked. "Reea'th, would you mind explaining? I've still got a headache from all the wine last night." Kyrike pleaded. Reea'th chuckled warmly and obliged, filling Ysgrig in on all the details of their previous excursion. "Well, I think she's a respectable young lady. If she risked her own life to save Reea'th's and help us out in pushing back the Imperial forces, she's definitely got my approval." Ysgrig glanced up at Kyrike, who had given him a dirty look. "Not that she needs it or anything." He quickly added, easing his son's nerves.

"Why don't we talk about something else? How about those bandits that took Valie's arm off?" Kyrike changed the subject, catching Ysgrig and Reea'th off guard. "Wait, wait, where did this topic come from?" "We can't just ignore what happened to Valelia. Those guys hauled her off like some fancy statue and hacked her arm off. She's not getting that back, that's something she has to live with for the rest of her life." Kyrike frowned, watching the tree lines carefully for any surprise attacks.

"We'll have to make sure the Home is in good shape in case they get any funny ideas. We shouldn't go around hunting bandits, that's a death wish nowadays." Reea'th acknowledged, before grinning. "It's a death wish to mess with us, too. We're some of the toughest sons of bitches Skyrim's got in her pocket."

"Maybe so, but we're mortal men, and the Gods intend for all mortal men to die, whether it be by blade, illness, or natural causes." Ysgrig added. Kyrike gave an amused snort. "Finally, you're learning to see the world how I do, pa. Welcome to the life of cynicism." "In any case, we should head home and check up on everyone. I'm sure they're dying to hear about the battle." Ysgrig brought their conversation to a halt, and the three were silent on the rest of the way home, only Varos's hoofbeats announcing their presence in the eerily quiet forest.

Deep down, Reea'th felt as if something was about to go horribly wrong. Glancing over at Kyrike, he knew that the younger man felt the same way.


	38. Not Right

_Entry No. 8_

 _19th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 219_

 _It's been about five days since the successful attack on Whiterun. My fellow Stormcloaks and I have overtaken the city despite the noticeable outnumbering, and I slew Jarl Dagny the Daring myself. Though I did not directly kill her, incapacitating her and leaving her to be crushed beneath the Porch's falling column is fair enough. I'm fairly certain there's a special place in Oblivion reserved solely for that transparently manipulative tyrant. Gods forbid I get stuck with her in Sovngarde someday.  
_

 _Looking back, I realize how foolish I was to run out at her like that. She could have had an entire force of troops waiting for me on the Great Porch, and I would have blindly stumbled in. Maybe pa is right, I should be a bit more careful before making a mistake that could cost me my life._

 _Reea'th says he worries about me, too, and it shows. He's my best friend, but you'd think he's my older brother, despite the obvious difference in race. He's always smiling and grinning, but as of late, he's been acting a bit...off. Quite frankly, that's the only way I can think to describe his unusual behavior._

 _Something's not right._

 _Ever since we left camp and split up from Mac and Valie, I've felt like something is about to happen. I can't put my finger on it, but there's a chilling feeling in my heart that tells me things are about to get switched up again. From the way he's been acting, I think Reea'th feels it, too. He's been pacing around at night, sharpening his claws more often, and the most unusual thing of all, he's been drinking._

 _Reea'th was never one to indulge in the sport of drinking. He never quite had the taste for it. Just the other night as I was wandering to the kitchen for a bit of bread, I caught Reea'th uncorking a bottle of alto wine, an empty bottle sitting at his feet. From the glazed look in his eyes, he'd downed the first bottle in under a minute._

 _Other than that, things have been surprisingly calm around the Home, but that's never a good sign. Oriebbi's been helping Sa'etha out in her lab every free second she gets, but she doesn't go a day without writing to her parents in Morthal. Evada's getting better every day. She's in a much better mood than when pa and Reea'th found her by the waterfall, though I can still sometimes hear her mumbling 'Vi, Vi...' in her sleep when I walk past her room at night. She's still undoubtedly depressed, but she's noticeably getting better.  
_

 _Omir's kept to himself a lot lately, but that's nothing new. Every once in a while, he'll go through a phase where he wants to socialize with everyone on Nirn, and after, he'll shy away like a deer on a hunting ground.  
_

 _On the topic of hunting, Reea'th and pa haven't been able to find many deer or rabbits. We've been down on our luck ever since Caehir..._

 _Gods. Every time I think of Caehir, my blood boils in rage. First, I blame myself for not being able to prevent his untimely death. Then I go on to blame pa for not letting me leave sooner, and Valie for not stopping the dragons. I soon come to my senses and blame no one. No one but the dragons. It's almost like a never-ending cycle of the blame game._

 _It's getting pretty late, but I don't feel like sleeping yet. I was thinking about writing a letter to Mila, but the dimming candle on my desk looks like it could go out at any ti_

"Dammit!" Kyrike swore, slamming his fist against the desk. A few seconds later, several modest raps were heard against the door. "Come in."

Ysgrig poked his head in. "You alright, Kyr? What are you up to?" He queried. "I'm fine, pa. I was writing in my journal when the candle went out. Got any spare candles?" Kyrike asked. Ysgrig shrugged. "I'll go look for some tomorrow. Both of us should probably head to bed. Wouldn't want to oversleep tomorrow. You know it's the Warriors Festival." Ysgrig gave a jokey smile.

Kyrike rolled his eyes. "Yeah, pa. Weapons and armor are sold at half price in the cities. That would probably be useful if we didn't already have a talented smith at our beck and call." Kyrike replied. "Ah, yeah. You've got a point." Ysgrig gave a dejected smile. "Trot off to bed, son. We need to be prepared in case the next orders come through."

Kyrike grumbled a moment before nodding and tucking himself into bed. Ysgrig, satisfied with his work, closed the door and walked off. Kyrike listened as the distinct sound of his father's footsteps grew quieter and went silent in the hallway. He glanced over at his katana, which lay on the dresser next to his bed. "I get the feeling I might need you soon." He whispered to his trusty katana before rolling over in bed, closing his eyes.


	39. Author's Note

**A/N: Okay, guys. This kinda sucks, but it's very likely that I won't be continuing this story. It's just not showing any signs of appealing to the readers, and I honestly doubt anyone is going to read this note because of how many readers this story has lost.**

 **This story, in all honesty, started out alright. It could have been better, though. It's certainly not as well-received as its predecessor (and even that wasn't all that great). I posted a chapter of this story in March. It's now June, and so far, it's only gotten two reads. I think it's safe to say, this story is dead.**

 **Unless this story starts getting readers, I'm not posting anymore, because I just don't have the motivation I used to. I have, however, been posting on ArchiveOfOurOwn, so there's that. In fact, I posted nineteen of the chapters of** ** _Where the Cold Awaits_** **to AO3, but it got very few reads, and that's how I know that story, and this story, aren't good.**

 **I'm sorry to say that I likely will not be continuing this story, for those select few of you who actually like my writing. I know I always say that I never abandon stories and that mama didn't raise a quitter.**

 **Well, this time, she did.**

 **So, to those of you who've stuck with me this far, thanks for all your love and support, and I'm so sorry I won't be continuing this story. Goodbye.**


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